


sweet kisses I’ve got to spare

by StormDancer



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not Hockey Player(s), Banter, Domesticity, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-03 11:54:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 65,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15818376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormDancer/pseuds/StormDancer
Summary: **NEWLY RENOVATED WEST VILLAGE APARTMENT** 1BD/1BA -- Couples welcome!For rent: 1 bedroom apartment in scenic West Village. All new appliances, natural light, exposed brick, huge closets! Best restaurants in all of New York nearby.Couples only need apply.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my 65k of banter and domesticity! It's my first long expedition into Gabe/Tyson and the Avs ensemble, so I apologize for any mischaracterizations, particularly of minor characters. 
> 
> Posting Schedule: this fic is complete, and will be posting every 4 days. 
> 
> Disclaimer: don't know anything about anyone, these are entirely fictional representations of real people so if you know those people you probably don't want to read this, etc etc. Similarly, all restaurants/bars mentioned in this fic are either fictional or I have no real experience with them, so do not take anything here as a recommendation.

Tyson walks into the bar, drops down in the booth next to Nate, folds his arms in front of him on the table, and drops his forehead onto his folded arms with a groan.

There’s a second of silence—well, silence other than the noise of the bar, so like, not really silence at all, because New York is the city that never sleeps, blah blah blah—and then Nate’s hand lands on his shoulder. “Bad day?”

Tyson lifts his head, so Nate can properly appreciate the tragedy of his expression. “I have been riding so many highs and lows today.” Nate, because he’s the best, waits for Tyson to explain. “So first I managed to finally talk to Larissa’s parents, the one who’s been having so much trouble in class? And they seem like good people, they just didn’t know what was happening, so I think that’s dealt with. But then I got paint spilled on me, so.” Tyson spreads his arm. His shirt is, in fact, covered with red paint. It looks a little like he’s been stabbed.

“Don’t you keep spare clothes at school?”

Tyson rolls his eyes. “Yeah, except yesterday there was the goldfish incident, and I had to change twice, and so I didn’t have any spares. So I’m coming to drinks as a crazy murder victim, and everyone else is going to look great, because I already always look like a spaz because I’m not a suit like you all.”

“I’m not a suit!” Nate protests. “I mean, I wear a suit sometimes, but not always.”

“That’s because you’re a baby who’s still in school. Once you graduate, you will. Anyway, so that was school. Then I went back to my place, and the landlord was there, and he gave me an ultimatum.”

“You really have to be out?”

“I really have to be out,” Tyson agrees, making a face. He’d liked his place. It was tiny, yes, and there were sometimes cockroaches and he barely had a kitchen, but it had been in the nearer part of Brooklyn, so comparatively close to work and with great new food options, and he’d been there for almost two years, which was basically a record for him. Except then his landlord apparently decided the building would be more profitable if he ripped everything out and started over, and now he has until the end of the month. It could be worse, he guesses. At least his landlord is paying him back his safety deposit and last month’s rent. “And so then I was on StreetEasy, and I found what I think is the perfect place. It’s a true one bedroom in West Village, it’s a prewar building but renovated so there’s a _dishwasher_ , and there are these massive closets, and the kitchen is massive and gorgeous.”

He pauses, for effect.

“But?” Nate prompts.

“The landlord will only rent the apartment to a couple.”

Nate blinks. “What?”

“I know!” Tyson throws his hands up. He’s already mad, and he’s happy that he’s coming here tonight because he’s going to be able to tell this story multiple times so other people get mad with him. “It’s ridiculous. I’ve never heard of it. According to the post it’s because she thinks it makes people more responsible, or something, or maybe she can just get more for the apartment, but—there it is. My perfect apartment, down the drain.”

“You’ll find somewhere,” Nate tells him, patting his arm. Less like he really believes it, and more like he knows Tyson needs to hear it right now.

“That’s this good, and this well priced, and that’s free now?”

“You know you’re welcome on my couch.”

“I am not staying in dorms,” Tyson objects. Nate’s awesome, and he’s in the grad school dorms so he knows it’s different, but he refuses on principle. Also, Nate’s place really isn’t big enough. “God, this would be so much easier if I were dating someone.” He pauses. Thinks. “Wait.”

Nate laughs. “No.”

“Come on, you’d pretend to date me so we could get this apartment! It’d be chill, we could just be bros who happen to share a bed.” Tyson leans in, flutters his eyelashes. “Unless I’m that irresistible.”

“I think we lost our chance the first time I picked you up from school,” Nate says, which is fair. Tyson has lost more than one potential relationship over them seeing him covered in six-year-old vomit.

“Fair. Do you think I could get Kerfy to do it if I told him I’d buy him beer?”

“I think that’s illegal,” Nate points out.

“Ugh.” Tyson makes a face at him. “Why are you pointing out flaws in my perfect plan?”

“Because I don’t want you arrested?” Nate tells him. The noise in the bar is picking up as happy hour is really setting in; that means the rest of their group will be here soon—the people with “real jobs,” as EJ likes to say. Which is bullshit. Tyson would like to see any of them corral children on sugar highs.

“Minor setback,” Tyson tells him, and gets up. “I’m going to get a drink. If I’m not back in ten minutes, it’s because someone thinks I’ve killed someone and has called the police on me.”

“I’ll give your alibi,” Nate promises, grinning, and Tyson grins back.

The bar is not yet so crowded that it takes too long to get a drink, and Tyson’s broad-shouldered and good with his elbows, so he gets through easily enough. It’s harder to get the bartender’s attention, because she’s busy talking with some affluent looking guys in suits down at the other end of the bar and Tyson really doesn’t blame her because they definitely have more money to tip her with than him, but she gets to him eventually.

“Sorry for the wait,” she even says, as she pours him his sangria.

“That’s not a wait. It’s like the school rule, right? If you’ve been waiting for more than fifteen minutes you get to pour yourself a drink.” Tyson’s not even sure what he’s saying, but she laughs.

“I’m not sure my bosses agree with that rule.”

“Yeah, I don’t think my teachers did either,” Tyson agrees, and she laughs again before taking his card to start a tab.

Nate’s on his phone when he gets back, but no one else has shown up yet. “No police?” Nate asks, setting his phone aside.

“Not even a weird look. Sometimes I love New York.” Tyson sits down, then kicks his leg out to take up the chair next to him before someone takes it. “If only I could afford to live here.”

“Yeah, about that.” Nate’s face is suspiciously straight. “If you’re serious about splitting the apartment with someone, you know who you should ask.”

Tyson’s busy taking a sip of his drink, because he needs it today, so he hums out, “Who?”

“Someone we know who’s a good friend of yours. Who is also in dire need of housing. Who is ridiculous enough that he would go along with this plan. Who you could definitely pretend to be in a relationship with because—”

“No,” Tyson cuts Nate off, because Nate’s smirking and Tyson knows where this is going.

“It makes sense! He’s still doing that AirBnB after things with Dutchy blew up, and he can definitely afford his half—”

“He can afford way better than this,” Tyson points out. “He makes a ridiculous amount of money, come on.”

“And yet he hasn’t found a place yet. Because it hasn’t been right. And this one looks perfect for him, too.”

“Nate.” Tyson meets Nate’s eyes, as seriously as he can. “I’m not going to ask him.”

“Tyson,” Nate mimics, in the same tone. “He’s the perfect choice.”

“Except for how we argue all the time, and how no one would believe we’re together because he’s an actual Disney prince?”

“People would believe it, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Lost cause,” comes the voice from above them, then, “Are you saving a seat for me?”

Tyson glances up. Even after more than half a decade, it’s still always a shock to the system, Gabe in a suit. This is another reason why it would be a stupid thing to ask him, Tyson thinks; Gabe’s already too hot in his tight suits, all blonde and muscly and tall with his perfect hair and perfect beard and sparkly eyes. Tyson definitely couldn’t handle it in anything else. Or less.

“Don’t be stupid, Landesnerd,” Tyson retorts, and swings his other leg up on the chair with a grin. “My feet just need a place to sit.”

“Thanks,” Gabe says, ignoring him as well as the four other empty chairs at the table. He reaches down, grabs Tyson’s ankles, and Tyson stupidly wasn’t expecting that so he doesn’t resist when Gabe pushes Tyson’s feet off the chair. “Very polite of you.”

“You know me, always polite.”

 “Polite’s definitely the first adjective that comes to mind talking about you,” Gabe agrees, dripping sarcasm. Tyson flips him off companionably. “Do we have to politely hide any bodies?”

Tyson groans. “This is only the start,” he says, and starts his story. Nate can deal with hearing it twice.

They pick up EJ about midway through the story, but Tyson gets to the landlord’s ultimatum when Gabe interrupts—well, interrupts more than to insert commentary about Tyson’s maturity relative to a first grader—his impressive brow furrowed.

“That’s definitely not legal, Tys.”

“Sorry, Mr. Lawyer, but—”

“He can’t just kick you out. You do have a lease, right?”

“Yes I have a lease,” Tyson retorts, then realizes. “I mean. It’s definitely a written document. It’s just not, you know. Entirely formal.”

Gabe looks unsurprised and exasperated, which is a usual look from him to Tyson; there’s also the protectiveness that comes out sometimes, which is less usual but also not unheard of. “Even so. There’s reliance, and some sort of lease. You can challenge this.”

“It’s cute you think I have money to sue someone.” Tyson pats Gabe’s hand. “Not all of us are big firm lawyers. Some of us are paid by the city.”

“I can take a look. Maybe we can—”

Tyson shakes his head. “It’s fine. He’s not charging me rent this month and he’s giving me my security deposit back.” At Gabe’s incredulous look, Tyson bristles. “What? I’m not totally incompetent. I did negotiate.”

“And by negotiate, do you mean cry?” EJ asks, because he’s a dick.

“No!”

“Or flirt?” EJ goes on.

“What? No.” Tyson gives him his most horrified face. “He’s like fifty and balding, come on.”

“It’s not my fault you flirt with everyone that moves.”

“I do not!” Tyson protests. He casts around for back up. “Right, Nate? I don’t.”

Nate shrugs. “You kind of do, bro.”

“Traitor! Gabe? Back me up. I don’t flirt.”

Gabe blinks at him, and his mouth does something weird and complicated. Tyson should have known better than to ask him, Gabe really does flirt with everyone. “I mean, it depends if you call flailing at someone flirting.”

“Oh, fuck you and your big head,” Tyson retorts, kicking at Gabe’s shin. “I negotiated with words and everything, and he was accommodating. We’re buddies, anyway. We watch football together sometimes. He might be inviting me over for dinner sometime—his wife apparently makes great pierogi he wants me to try. What?” he adds, because Gabe’s grinning and shaking his head.

“Only you,” Gabe tells him, and Tyson waits for the punchline, but it doesn’t seem to be coming.

“Whatever, I get free pierogi. So, now I need to find a new place,” he picks up, and keeps telling the story, through the perfect apartment to the landlord’s weird restrictions. “And that is how my singleness ruined my life yet again,” he ends. At least it’s a good story.

“I don’t actually think it was your being single,” EJ points out. Tyson makes a face at him.

“If I was in a relationship, I would have a perfect apartment. I am not in a relationship, so I do not have a perfect apartment. Ergo, me being single ruined my life. Lawyered!”

“You don’t get to say that, you’re not a lawyer.”

“Fine. Gabe, say it for me.” Tyson turns to Gabe, who’s grinning at them. Tyson has been friends with Gabe for years now, so he is not struck dumb by his grin. Mostly.

“His logic does seem sound,” Gabe agrees.

“See!”

“But,” Gabe goes on, “I don’t think you can really say being single is the source of all Tyson’s problems. I don’t think it accounts for his drink choice.”

“You’re just jealous that my drink tastes great and yours tastes like piss,” Tyson retorts, sipping his sangria—which tastes amazing, thank you very much. Just to make the point, he licks his lips ostentatiously.

“Some of us have realized we’re adults and want to drink things other than juice.”

“Okay, A this has way too much alcohol in it not to be an adult drink,” Tyson points out cheerfully. Bantering with Gabe always puts him in a better mood, even if he knows it annoys the fuck out of everyone else. Whatever, it’s their thing. “B, juice is awesome, so joke’s on you there.”

“I thought lawyers were the ones who made lists,” EJ says in a very vocal undertone. Tyson ignores him.

“C, you being this mean is why I asked Nate to move in with me and not you,” Tyson finishes.

Gabe’s face does something twitchy. “Move in with you?”

“Tyson’s getting desperate,” Nate puts in.

“Don’t even,” Tyson tells the table at large but mostly Gabe, before he can fill in that chirp. He doesn’t get why everyone thinks he flirts so much. He likes talking to people, sue him.

“So his grand plan to get the apartment was for me to pretend to be his boyfriend.”

“Seriously?” EJ asks incredulously. Tyson glares at all of them.

“It’s a good deal! And Nate and I would be adorable together, don’t front.” He leans into Nate’s shoulder, flutters his eyelashes ridiculously. “Wouldn’t we?”

“I’m not sure it’s believable,” Gabe says. He’s smiling, but his hands are tight around his beer.

“Are you saying Nate could do better than me?” Tyson protests.

“I absolutely could do better than you,” Nate agrees. Gabe’s still looking at Tyson, his hands shifting on his glass.

“I’m not saying that either of you could do better,” Gabe says, finally.

“Though I could.”

“You’d be lucky to do better than me.”

“I’m just saying,” Gabe goes on, “It’d be too cliché. No one would believe it.”

“Come on, it’s like a rom-com, or whatever. Best friends falling in love. You like that shit,” Tyosn points out,  and takes another sip of sangria.

“You make it sound like bullshit,” Gabe retorts, bristling a little.

“I mean, it is.”

“People can be romantic.”

Tyson rolls his eyes. “Guys who look like you are romantic, because it’s part of the whole—thing. It’s why it’s impossible to compete.”

“I—” Gabe blinks at him. His cheeks have gone a little red. “I don’t think we’re in competition, necessarily.”

“Yes, we know, you’re a Viking hero, etc etc.” Tyson waves him away. “And are you really not on board with the friends falling in love thing? I’d think you’d be into that.”

Gabe shrugs, and looks down at his beer. “I’d like to think they can, but it’s a risk, isn’t it? If …”

“Just to clarify, you aren’t actually in love with Nate, right?” EJ asks. “Because that really would be cliché.”

Tyson laughs. Nate’s his bro, his best friend, maybe his life partner—but he’s not in love. He’s been in love before, and it’s always good and brilliant and overwhelming until they leave. Tyson is not exactly what you’d call lucky in love.  

“You would know if I was in love,” he says, because he’s always the first to make fun of himself. “It involves a lot of knocking things over.”

“Blank looks,” Nate adds.

“Crying and gnashing of teeth,” Tyson puts in, and turns instinctively to Gabe, because he knows a comment is coming for that phrasing.

It doesn’t come. Gabe’s looking down at his beer again.

“Hey,” Tyson says, as EJ and Nate are distracted by Comphy and Kerfy showing up with Mikko right behind them and they’re all off on a consideration of who among them acts the most embarrassing when they’re in love, the answer of which is obviously EJ because he takes the girls to horse shows. Tyson refrains from mentioning that, though, and kicks at Gabe’s shin until he looks up. “You okay?”

Gabe smiles. “Yeah. Long day.”

“Tell me about it,” Tyson groans, then, when Gabe doesn’t say anything, he raps the table. “Seriously, tell me about it. Bad day?”

Gabe opens his mouth, closes it, and then shakes his head. “Just—long. Meetings and other people fucking up and clients being stupid.”

Tyson nods, like he understands any of that. “Maybe one day we can trade, and I can deal with your meetings and stupid clients and you can deal with screaming children, and then at the end of the day we’ll both be so thankful that we have our jobs.”

That gets a real smile out of Gabe, and somehow they’re close enough that Gabe can bump his shoulder against Tyson’s companionably. “I’m thankful just thinking about it.”

“Me too,” Tyson agrees. He’d hate being a lawyer.

“Were you—are you really thinking about trying to fake a relationship, to get this apartment?” Gabe asks. Tyson narrows his eyes.

“Are you asking as a friend, or as a lawyer?”

Gabe rolls his eyes. “As a friend.”

“No, obviously not—I’ll find some place else, I always do—but, I mean. It really is a great place, and I won’t be able to afford anywhere half so good.” Tyson pulls out his phone. “Look at the closets, Gabe. Look at them. Look at the space, for a West Village apartment! And it has a dishwasher, Gabe. A _dishwasher_.”

Gabe’s eyebrows go up as he looks at the pictures. “That’s a really nice place.”

“Right? See why Nate’s betrayal by not agreeing to fake a relationship was so bad?” Tyson glances up from his phone—and Gabe had gotten close to look at the pictures, and it’s just a lot to handle, eyes and eyelashes and jawline and lips and hair, which is why, Tyson thinks, he says, “Nate said I should ask you, anyway.”

“Ask me?”

“I know it’s ridiculous and you can get a place, but—that was Nate’s suggestion. Because he’s so unhelpful.”

“Unhelpful?”

“This whole conversation thing works better if you contribute too,” Tyson points out. “But yeah, I mean. I know you can afford better than my maybe-illegal plan. And like, get a place that would give you your own room, and more space, because you’ve got like, five years of legs to fit places, and you probably need someplace with a gym too because how else ae you supposed to stay looking like that, and—I mean. You don’t need my plan. And also, the plan was a joke.  Anyway, no one would believe it.”

“No one—”

“Honestly, Gabe. What kind of lawyer are you if you can’t come up with something new to say?”

Tyson grins at Gabe, inviting him into the joke. Gabe smiles back, but it’s off, not full Disney prince. “Seriously, are you okay?”

Gabe shakes his head. “Like I said, long day.”

“Well, the day is over, and the alcohol is here.” Tyson toasts Gabe with his sangria, then finishes it off.

“People entrust you with their children?” Gabe asks, incredulous as always, but he’s smiling again.

“Excuse you, I am extremely responsible. And I need another drink. Want something?”

“Not yet, because some of us drink like adults.”

“Some of us are no fun,” Tyson retorts, and gets up. Gabe must be thinking about a comeback; Tyson can feel him watching Tyson as he goes back up to the bar.

Tyson loses track of Gabe and Nate both for a while. He’s getting off his shitty day and his shitty feelings about having to move because he’s the expert on moving and it still always sucks and now he’ll probably end up on Jamie and Katie’s couch for a while until he figures his shit out which isn’t ideal, and to top it all off he was still single, which wasn’t the worst part of it but definitely wasn’t the best, either.

But the best medicine is distraction and other people, so Tyson takes over a bar stool and chats with Kerfy about whether or not grad school is worth it—Tyson has a masters but that’s way less intense than law school, so apparently that’s a different perspective—and somehow, in the middle of that, he ends up knocking over a drink on the bar.

“Oh, shit,” Tyson swears, staring down at the beer that’s now gotten on his shirt. It mostly missed, luckily, but it definitely does not make him look more put together. He isn’t actually this much of a disaster. He knows that.

Then he looks up, to the guy whose drink he knocked over. He’s wearing a suit with the same sort of casual confidence Gabe does, like he knows he wears it well, and he does, even if he’s not quite at Gabe level. But he’s got dark eyes and dark hair and broad shoulders, and even if he’s jumping away he doesn’t look like he’s about to punch Tyson, which is good. “Shit, I’m so sorry. Did it get on you? Let me get you another one.”

“No, it’s good.” The guy looks down at his suit, inspecting it. Then he turns to Tyson. “I think you got yourself more than me.”

“Story of my life,” Tyson informs him. “I’ll get you another one.”

“Are you sure?” He’s definitely staring at the stain on Tyson’s shirt. “You look like you might need another one more.”

“Oh, I have another one,” Tyson replies, holding up his half-drunk sangria. “And no, I didn’t actually kill anyone.”

“I wasn’t asking,” the guy replies, but he’s laughing as Tyson leans over the bar to try to get the bartender’s attention.

Five minutes later, the boys have somehow disappeared and Tyson’s still waiting to get the bartender’s attention, but the guy—Ted—has now heard about the Saga of the Paint, and has countered it with the time his nephew drew a mustache on him with permanent marker, and how he had to go to work with it only barely washed off.

“I don’t know,” Tyson says, eying his upper lip. It’s a pretty nice upper lip. “I think you’d look good with a mustache.”

“Thanks, man.” Ted chuckles. “I really don’t.”

“You’ve got the lips for it,” Tyson goes on, and Ted goes a little red but he laughs again.

Tyson makes it back to the table a few minutes later, freshly drink-ed and with a friendly bye for Ted, who goes off to his friends too with a promise to try out the new ramen place in the Village.

“Oh, so you do remember us?” Nate asks, when Tyson gets back.

“You know I could never forget you, dawg,” Tyson tells him, settling into his spot next to Nate. “The rest of you…”

That gets a wave of protests. “No, you’re right,” Tyson goes on. “I couldn’t forget Gabe’s head.” It’s a weak chirp, and he knows it, but whatever.

Gabe snorts. He’s a little flushed, and it looks like he’s considerably drunker than when Tyson had last seen him; it is, inevitably, a good look on him. “Think about my head a lot, Tys?”

“Not at all,” Tyson retorts. “But it’s pretty hard to miss.”

“But what about when you go blind from not eating vegetables?”

“I eat vegetables!” Tyson protests. “I try vegetables at most of the places I blog about. I can recite the food pyramid better than you, I bet. Do you know how well I teach it? There’s a song and everything.

“A song?” Gabe asks, leaning in. “Really? Is it set to—”

“No one is singing anything,” Nate announces, shoving Gabe back. “Please. For my ears’ sake.”

Gabe and Tyson grin at each other, and, as one, start. “She was the dancing queen, young and sweet, only—” Nate’s hand lands over Tyson’s mouth as EJ does the same to Gabe. Nate is unfairly large, so Tyson just licks at his hand instead of bothering to drag it away; it gets Nate to loosen his grip. Gabe, less practiced, is still wrestling with EJ. Tyson takes another drink. Maybe his life is a mess, but this isn’t too bad.

Tyson’s settling up at the bar when Gabe leans against it next to him, forearms braced against it. Somewhere along the way he’s lost his jacket and his sleeves are rolled up, which makes it almost impossible to avoid looking at the muscles of his arms, and Tyson is sure Gabe knows it. “Hey,” Gabe says, knocking their shoulder together. “Let’s do it.”

“Do what? Put frogs in Mikko’s bed? Because I tried that at camp once, and—”

“The apartment thing. I’m in.”

“What?” It comes out loud. Tyson turns so he can properly stare at Gabe. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Gabe grins. “Unless you don’t think you can really pull it off.”

“Psh, of course I can,” Tyson retorts, then takes a breath. He won’t actually be dared into it. “Gabe, I never actually meant this to be a thing. I’ll figure something else out. You don’t have to do this out of pity, or to make sure I’m not homeless, or whatever.”

“I need a place too, it’s a great place—”

“That you could afford on your own.”

Gabe ignores him. “And I think I can stand to live with you. We’ve done it before.”

“For a week, on vacation,” Tyson counters. Gabe shrugs. “And this won’t be—you realize you’ll have to pretend to be my boyfriend?”

“Yes, thank you, I do know the plan.”

“You’d have to be nice to me.”

Gabe smirks. “Would I, though?”

Tyson flushes. Fine, so it works for him when people are a little mean to him. “At least sometimes,” he mutters.

“I am nice to you sometimes,” Gabe replies, sounding a little offended now. “I helped you move into your last two places!”

“You made fun of all my shit the whole time!” Tyson accepts the bill the bartender gives him. “Thanks.”

“You own an ice cream machine and a popcorn machine,” Gabe retorts. Then he gives Tyson another look, his tongue flicking out to lick his lips. “Do you—if you don’t want to after all, we don’t have to.”

Tyson sighs. It’s a really nice apartment. And, teasing aside, Gabe’s one of his best friends; there would be worse people to live with. This is actually not the worst plan in the world. “You can back out when you’re sober. I’m not holding you to anything drunk you said.”

Gabe’s grin is huge, the sort of smile that could light the sun, the sort of smile that makes Tyson’s heart stop beating even after all these years. “I won’t,” he says, with the sort of certainty only the drunk really have. “You’ll see.”

///

Tyson fully expects Gabe to back out. But then two days later, they’re signing a lease, Gabe glowering at the realtor from behind Tyson as he puts his pen on paper, his suit on and full courthouse aggression in his face. Tyson very carefully doesn’t look back; Gabe is always painfully attractive but there’s something like him like that that makes Tyson want to poke at him. When Gabe signs, he makes a point of reading the lease in full, even though Tyson teases him about it as they leave. Gabe just shakes his head and slings an arm over Tyson’s shoulders, ruffling Tyson’s hair as he pulls him in. “But you love it, right dear?” he asks, pointed, and Tyson sighs.

Then they’re moving in, and everyone who’s been bribable with beer and pizza has been bribed to bring their shit up the one floor to his—their—apartment. The apartment is just as nice now that they’ve signed—a massive true one bedroom, with an open plan kitchen and living room with a brick wall and big windows that face the street. And a dishwasher, and enough counter space for a dish rack, Tyson’s microwave—deemed to be bigger—and his rice cooker. It’s gorgeous. Tyson can’t help but stroke the granite countertops a little, just to make sure they’re real.

“What are you doing to the apartment?” EJ demands, as he sets his box onto said counter.

Tyson has no regrets. “They’re granite, bro. Feel them. Don’t you want to caress them a little?”

EJ blinks. “I have never wanted to caress a countertop in my life.”

“Then you’ve never lived.” Tyson runs his fingers over the counter again, and gives a little moan, just to mess with EJ.

“You’re so weird,” Comphy says, as he drops his own box on the kitchen island. “And why don’t you have to carry anything? This is your apartment.”

“I’m directing,” Tyson explains, because he knows how to work a good thing. “That’s far more important.”

“Gabe isn’t directing,” Comphy argues, as the man in question comes in. a box marked ‘dishes’ in his arms. It must be heavy; Tyson can see the muscles of those arms working underneath his white t-shirt. It’s really unfair; he’s not even dressed up and he still looks like _that_.

“Gabe can’t handle the important directorial job. He’s better put to use elsewhere,” Tyson informs Comphy.

“I knew it. You only asked me to move in for my lifting ability,” Gabe says with an overexaggerated frown. “But where should we put these?”

“Just here, we’ll unpack later.”

“We will, or I will?”

“You think I’m letting you decide how our kitchen is organized?” Tyson scoffs. “You think IKEA meatballs are the pinnacle of food.”

“You think waffles are!”

“Waffles are god’s food, but there’s more to life than them,” Tyson retorts. He is letting Gabe get his hands on this beautiful kitchen over his dead body. Tyson might not be an expert cook, but he has semi-professional opinions about food. “And at least they aren’t frozen.”

“Are you saying frozen foods aren’t good?”

Tyson senses a trap. “No.”

“Because it sounded like you were,” Gabe says, grinning. He sets down the box, leans his hip on it. He’s worked up just enough of a sweat that it glistens on his skin. Tyson, who did actually carry some boxes, thank you very much Comphy, is red and gross. “Which would call your ice cream addiction—”

“It’s not an addiction, it’s an appreciation!”

“Into question.”

“Oh my god, stop flirting and come help with the bedframe,” EJ interrupts. Comphy’s already mostly out the door, muttering something about old married couples under his breath.

Gabe smirks again at Tyson. “Not an addiction?”

“Go put those muscles to work and lift some shit.”

“You have muscles too,” Gabe points out, his gaze flicking to Tyson’s arms, which are very nice, thank you. He’s no Gabe, but he has lifted a lot of six years olds in his day. “You could come help.”

“Then who would keep an eye on the place?” Tyson asks innocently. “You wouldn’t want all our shit to get stolen because no one was here to watch it, would you?”

“Nope,” Gabe agrees cheerfully, and reaches out to grab Tyson’s arm. “Come on. You’re helping.”

“I really don’t think I need to!” Tyson objects, as Gabe tugs and Tyson goes, because the bedframes are going to be a bitch. He doesn’t even really try to get away when Gabe transfers his grip to the back of Tyson’s neck. “You guys probably have it.”

“We always need you, Tyson,” Gabe says, sounding disarmingly sincere for someone towing Tyson down the stairs.

“This is abuse,” Tyson whines anyway. “My boyfriend is abusing me.”

“Aw,” Gabe stops at the bottom of the stairs, so Tyson almost runs into him. He’s still smirking down at Tyson, pleased with himself enough that Tyson wants to poke him apart. Then his voice goes low. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

Tyson swallows. Gabe’s flirting is really a lot, with the purr in his voice and the way his eyes are half-lidded. 

Tyson manages a high-pitched laugh. “You better. I expect ice cream,” Tyson retorts. “A lot of it. Probably chocolate.” And not licked off of Gabe’s pecs either. “And probably a massage coupon too, for all the aches.”

Gabe hesitates a second, then his hand slides from the nape of Tyson’s neck. “You’ll need to do the lifting to work off the ice cream,” he says, and Tyson waits to protest until he’s outside and can get Nate on his side too.

Everyone leaves by that evening, stuffed full of pizza and placated by Tyson’s promise that of course he was throwing a housewarming soon, don’t be stupid. “We are?” Gabe asks, collapsing on the couch. The boxes are still piled up in the living room and kitchen, but they have a couch, wifi, and the TV set up, so Tyson’s pretty sure that’s all they’re doing today. It’s teetering on the edge of freezing outside and he’s still hot.  

“Yeah, of course we are,” Tyson informs him. “Once we’re unpacked, so probably in a few months.”

“Seems right,” Gabe agrees. He reaches out, tugs Tyson’s wrist so that he falls onto the couch next to Gabe. It’s Gabe’s couch—Tyson’s was the same one he’d picked up in college off of a facebook swap, and Gabe’s was a fancy new one worthy of a lawyer, so his definitely won—and a little harder than Tyson would go for but still nice. “Also, why is Nate still here?”

Tyson looks down at the floor, where Nate is lying and looking like he’d never like to get up. Nate looks back at him, as confused as Tyson is. “Why wouldn’t he be here?” Tyson asks.

Gabe opens his mouth, closes it, shakes his head. “No reason.”

Tyson and Nate are still eying him in confusion, but then Nate shrugs. “Want to see what’s on?”

“Yeah.” Tyson flicks on the TV, and leans back into the couch. It’s nice, really—no different from any other night watching TV with his boys, even the same TV. It’ll just be more convenient now, because he’s even closer to Nate and Gabe’s literally in the same apartment.

Even if—there’s a knock on the door.

Tyson looks at Gabe. Gabe looks at Tyson. They both look at Nate, who shrugs.

“I’m not getting up,” Tyson decides.

“Yes you are.” Gabe kicks his leg. “Go answer it.”

“I thought you were making things up to me,” Tyson complains.

“That’ll get you ice cream, you decided. You carried the least, go get it.”

“I did not carry the least!” Tyson protests. “You’re closer.”

Another knock. “Well, someone get it,” Nate says. Gabe and Tyson stare each other down.

Tyson breaks first. He really did manage to get out of a lot of the heavy lifting. “You’ll be making this up to me too,” he tells Gabe, and gets up from the couch with a groan. The door isn’t far away, but Tyson’s sore enough it feels like miles. “Why didn’t we use your money to hire movers?”

“Because you said, and I quote, that you weren’t going to start taking advantage of my money just yet,” Gabe retorts, and Tyson snorts as he opens the door.

“Hello?”

“Hi!” There’s a kid at the door—or well, he looks a few years younger than Nate, so kid to Tyson—cute, with a pointed face and great eyebrows and dark curly hair.

“Hi?”

“I’m Tyson Jost—my mom owns the building, but I live upstairs, so I wanted to come by and introduce myself,” the kid goes on, looking very earnest. He holds up his hand, where he’s got a plate with cookies on it. “Also, I brought a welcome to the building gift.”

“I like you,” Tyson decides, and steps aside. “Come on in. Are those chocolate chip?”

“Yeah. Full disclosure, I totally didn’t make them, my mom just picked them up from the bakery down the street and told me to bring them by.”

“Even better, it means if they’re good I can get them.” Tyson grins, and takes the plate from the kid. “Want some beer? Are you old enough to have beer?”

“Yes!”

It’s said loudly enough that Tyson’s not sure if it’s true, but, “Awesome,” Tyson decides. “Come on, I’ll get you some, if the guys left any.”

He ushers the kid into the apartment, shuts the door behind him. “We’re super not set up, so sorry for that.”

“I mean, you just moved in today?”

“Right?” Tyson agrees, and gestures the kid into the living room. “So, this is Gabe, he’s living here too. And this is Nate. Guys, this is our upstairs neighbor, Tyson.”

“Oh, so we’re upgrading Tysons now?” Gabe says, getting to his feet.

“Fuck off.”

Gabe ignores Tyson, and gives other-Tyson his big, polite welcoming smile. “Hi. Gabriel Landeskog, nice to meet you.”

Other-Tyson looks admirably unphased by Gabe with his charm turned on. “Tyson, nice to meet you too. I’m also the landlady’s son, so, like, if you have issues, I’m kind of the person to talk to.”

“Great. Thank you for stopping by.”

Tyson rolls his eyes. “He also brought cookies.”

“Oh, so that’s why you let him in,” Gabe’s grin is turning teasing as he looks back at Tyson, and even that’s a lot.

“I let him in because I am a good neighbor, Gabriel. I’m the cool one in this apartment,” Tyson tells other-Tyson, heading to the kitchen for a beer. “You’ll see.”

“You? Cool?”

“Shut up, Landesnerd,” Tyson calls back from the kitchen area. He grabs a beer for Tyson, then, on another thought, another two and a wine cooler for the rest of them.

When he turns around, Tyson’s cleared off a space on Tyson’s favorite armchair, so Tyson hands him a beer, then kicks at Nate’s ankle until he reaches up to take his. He puts the other two bottles on the coffee table, then grabs one of the cookies.

“Shit, these are good,” he says, as he bites into it. “Where’d you say they were from?”

“Dahlia’s,” Other-Tyson replies, and Tyson sets down the cookie on his thigh so he can add that to his Yelp lists. “It’s the bakery around the corner—it’s got great coffee, too, if you need some in the morning.”

“Awesome. We need to try this sometime.”

“Yeah,” Gabe and Nate chorus, then both stop, obviously surprised the other spoke. Nate props himself up again to look at Tyson.

It’s not—Tyson had meant Nate, really. Nate’s usually the one he dragged out to his new restaurants with, because Nate let him and didn’t get too irritated by Tyson taking pictures and notes while he ate. But, Tyson was the landlady’s son. Tyson thought he and Gabe were in a relationship.

“I’m going to need a lot of these cookies, so yeah, I’ll need to go more than once,” Tyson stammers. “I mean—”

“I see how it is, you’d rather eat with Nate than me,” Gabe chuckles, and grabs for the cookie on Tyson’s leg.

Tyson slaps him away. “That’s because you make fun of me, and get your own.”

“What happened to what’s mine is yours?” Gabe retorts.

“I don’t see a ring on this finger.” Tyson holds up his left hand. “So right now, what’s mine is mine, and so is this cookie.” He takes a bite of it, to drive the point home.

For a second, Gabe looks at him, considering—then he leans in, and bites at the cookie still in Tyson’s hand.

Tyson manages not to drop the cookie, but mainly because the shock keeps him frozen rather than spazzing out for once. Gabe’s eyes are sparkling as he meets Tyson’s, clearly amused. Nate makes a sound that somehow manages to cross a sigh with a laugh.

“Hm,” Gabe says, swallowing. His tongue flicks out to lick his lips. “It is good.”

“Anyway,” Nate says loudly, before Tyson can retort. “What’s your story, Tyson?”

Other-Tyson, who’d been watching like they were some sort of zoo animals, shrugs. “I’m a senior at NYU.”

“What do you study?” Gabe asks politely. He’s still deep in Tyson’s space.

“Oh, I’m a Psych major, with a minor in Education.”

Tyson sits up a little.

“And what do you want to do with that?” Gabe goes on. Tyson rolls his eyes and elbows Gabe in the side.

“Stop stressing him out with boring questions. I have a—”

“It’s not a boring question!”

“It is. Those questions are the worst.”

“They’re not bad.”

“Yeah, when you know you’re going to Columbia law school. When you have no idea what the fuck you’re doing—”

Nate clears his throat. “Sorry about them,” he tells other-Tyson. “They’re tolerable on their own, I promise.”

“Excuse me!” Tyson demands of Nate, as Gabe scoffs.

“We’re tolerable together,” Gabe adds. He throws an arm around Tyson. Tyson’s first instinct is to shove him away, because he has a bad habit of getting Tyson to do or go where he wants by physically moving him and Tyson’s been trying to break him of that habit since they were twenty, but this time, he fights the instinct and glares at Nate too.

“Yeah, as a comedy act.”

“Aw, don’t be jealous, baby,” Tyson coos at Nate. “You know you’re my one and only.” Gabe’s arm tightens around Tyson’s shoulder. Tyson glances at him, raising his eyebrows, but Gabe’s not looking at him, still scowling at Nate. He’s doing really great on this acting thing, Tyson thinks, patting him on the thigh. Gabe’s arm does another thing. A really great job. “I don’t love anyone like I love you.”

“I’d feel better about that if you don’t say that to you ice cream.”

“And dogs on the street,” Gabe adds.

“And people who compliment you at bars.”

 “And anyone who buys you one of your ridiculous drinks.”

“Anyway,” Tyson interrupts, before this roast-Tyson party can really get going. “Tyson. Other Tyson. What do you do for fun?”

By the time it’s getting late enough that Nate actually makes noises about having to leave, they’ve decided that other-Tyson will heretofore be referred to as Josty—“it’s legal if it’s legal language.” “And he’s a lawyer, he’d know”—and that Josty is a sweet kid.

He’s also Canadian enough to help clear the empties, which Tyson is lazy enough to let him do, and Gabe is comfy enough as a pillow that Tyson’s not going to let him move, either.

“He’s a nice kid,” Tyson observes, as Nate drags himself up to start helping too.

“He is,” Gabe agrees, then looks down at Tyson. “No.”

“What?”

“No,” Gabe repeats. Tyson doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

“So, we’re heading out,” Josty says, gesturing towards the door. “It was great to meet you guys. You’re a lot cooler than the last people who lived here,” he adds, and Tyson thinks of how he’d talked about school, and how he talked so seriously about his classes and little he mentioned friends, the way he stayed at their apartment late into the night, how he hadn’t checked his phone at all even though Tyson’s had gone off from like, seven different group chats while they’d been there.

“You know, you’re welcome here whenever,” he says, and feels Gabe make a noise behind him. “If you’re around and want some company.”

“Yeah?” Josty grins, all open and excited. It’s pretty sweet. “Thanks, man.”

“Of course,” Gabe adds.

“Tyson means it, too,” Nate puts in, cuffing Tyson’s head lightly as he walks past him. “He always like having people around.”

“I do,” Tyson agrees easily, because he does. He knows himself. He’s an extrovert’s extrovert. “When it gets quiet I have to start talking, and that’s no one’s—”

“Good night,” Gabe interrupts Tyson, which is probably a good call, and Nate chuckles and herds Josty out the door.  

Once they’re gone, Tyson pushes himself up to standing. He really is tired. “Okay, bedtime. Do you know where sheets are?”

“Tyson.”

“What?” Tyson turns back to look at Gabe, who’s giving him an exasperated look. Tyson’s pretty used to that, but he honestly didn’t do anything to deserve it right now. “What? Are your sheets hidden in some box? I think mine are pretty easy to get, you can use some of mine.”

“You realize that by inviting Josty to come over whenever, it means that we can’t put a bed in the living room unless we want him asking a lot of questions?”

Tyson blinks. That had been their sleeping plan, but now…He hadn’t thought that far ahead, but—yeah, no. Josty can’t know their relationship is fake, or else he’ll tell his mom and they’ll be kicked out. Having a bed in their living room will raise some really awkward questions. “Oh, shit. Sorry. I didn’t think.”

“Yeah, obviously,” Gabe drawls, getting to his feet. He’s not actually that big a guy, not compared to some of their friends, but—he feels like he’s taking up a lot of space.

“Fuck off,” Tyson snaps, tipping his head back to keep looking at Gabe. “He just seemed lonely, okay? And he seems cool, so I’m sorry if I liked the guy and wanted to make him feel better, and—what?” He demands again, because Gabe’s making another face at him, shaking his head with a little smile on.

“Nothing.” Gabe’s chuckle is almost self-deprecating, if Gabe knew what that meant. “So, flip for the couch?”

Tyson considers volunteering to take the couch, because he did just fuck up their sleeping plans, but also the couch is kind of hard and it’s Tyson’s bed that’s put together so far, so—“Yeah, sounds good.”

Gabe digs in his pocket, flips; Tyson calls tails in the air, but it comes up heads. “Hah!” Gabe crows.

“Let me see that coin,” Tyson insists, grabbing for it. Gabe yanks it out of the way, holds it above his head. Tyson takes a second to appreciate how high the ceilings are before he lunges after it. “Come on, I think you cheated, I need to check—”

“I don’t need to cheat to beat you.”

“This was literally a game of chance, there was no skill involved—”

“There’s skill in choosing—”

“I chose, you dick, let me—” Tyson decides he has more dignity than actually trying to jump to get to the coin—Gabe isn’t even much taller than him, come on—and instead smacks Gabe’s stomach. It is irritatingly, distractingly hard.

“Are you doubting my integrity?” Gabe retorts, still laughing as Tyson glares. God, he’s messy from the day and in just jeans and a t-shirt and he is _terribly_ attractive. “Would I lie to you?”

“Absolutely,” Tyson informs him, and Gabe grins again.

“You know, if you wanted to get into my bed so badly, there are easier ways to do it.”

“It’s my bed!” Tyson objects.

“I—” Gabe’s face does some complicated acrobatics. “Metaphorically it’s mine. For tonight, at least.”

“Ugh. Fine. We’re not doing this long term, though. We need to figure out an arrangement.”

“Tomorrow, though.”

“Yeah,” Tyson agrees, stretching. He needs to find his clothes. At least the closets are massive enough that there’s even enough room for his shit along with all of Gabe’s clothes. Then—“Hey.” He holds out his hand for a high five. Gabe eyes it suspiciously. Tyson rolls his eye. “First day as a pretend couple, and we rocked it. Josty was definitely convinced. We’re going to nail this.”

Gabe hits Tyson’s hand, and he’s smiling, but there’s something off in it. “Yeah. We’ve got this.”

“Fuck yeah,” Tyson agrees, and wanders to the bedroom to find something to sleep in.


	2. Chapter 2

Tyson wakes up to his alarm, and groans but gets up. The one thing Tyson did do yesterday was find the coffee machine—Gabe’s, some magical contraption that makes Tyson a little nervous he’s going to break it because it seems like something he’d do—so he hits a few buttons that seem like they start it brewing, then heads to the shower.

He’s out and on the computer at the kitchen counter, checking out the comments on his blog, when Gabe stumbles out of the bedroom.

It’s not the first time Tyson’s seen Gabe in the morning; they’ve spent overnights together. But it is the first time it’s been in _their_ apartment, with Gabe in just his boxers as he walks, barely blinking, to the coffee machine. It’s a lot—Gabe really doesn’t wear much to sleep and there’s a lot of warm-looking skin over smooth muscles paired with endearingly messy hair. Welcome to the rest of the year, Tyson tells himself, as Gabe goes to poke at the buttons, then stops, blinks.

“Already good to go,” Tyson says, and Gabe blinks again before turning to him. “It’s ready.”

Gabe tells Tyson something emphatic in Swedish, but Tyson doesn’t need to understand the language to understand a coffee blessing. Gabe turns back to the machine to pour himself a mug.

“Shower’s open too, if you need it.  I’ve just got to grab clothes from the bedroom then I’m out.”

Watching Gabe try to process words is more charming than it should be, really. It’s always been a nice little chink in Gabe’s perfection, that he hates mornings so much. It makes him that much more approachable—that much more real.

“No breakfast?” Gabe gets out. Tyson snorts and shakes his head.

“I’ll pick something up on the way. I wanted to try that bakery.” It’s even more fun to watch the chirp Gabe’s trying to formulate about Tyson’s sweet tooth battle with his urge to try to correct Tyson’s diet and his precaffeine slowness. Some days, Tyson might have given him shit about it, but it’s hard to bring himself to do that now, in the bright morning sunlight of their perfect apartment.

Instead, Tyson finishes up with the comments on his blog as Gabe takes his coffee into the bedroom to shower—someone suggested a ramen place in Alphabet City he wants to try, because it sounds good and it’ll fit into his ‘student food done right’ series—then goes into the bedroom to change.

He’s just tying his dancing cupcakes tie—one of his favorites—when Gabe comes back in, and Tyson yanks too hard on the tie and swears as it goes tight. It’s just—Gabe in just a towel slung around his hips, still literally steamy from the shower, all muscle and strength like Thor coming down to earth and wandering out of Tyson’s shower.

“You should invest in a hammer,” Tyson says, apropos of nothing at all outside of his head, but Gabe knows him well enough just to laugh. He also nicely doesn’t mention that Tyson’s definitely been ogling and is definitely red; if anything he’s preening a little. At least they’re compatible like that, Tyson thinks a little frantically as Gabe walks towards him—toward the closet—Gabe likes to be looked at, and Tyson apparently can’t help but look at Gabe. Really, it’s his own fault for looking like that.

“Is something broken already?” Gabe asks. Broken. The house. Right.

“No. I just mean, like, you need to get a hammer and then you’ve got the Halloween costume down pat, because you’ve already got the Thor thing going on, with the whole—” Tyson finally manages to close his mouth.

“Whole what?” Gabe prompts, moving past Tyson to get to the closet.

“You know what, Gabriel, I don’t need to feed your ego any more,” Tyson informs him, and Gabe smirks. He’s certainly woken up, Tyson thinks grumpily. “I’m going to school.”

“Your tie’s not tied,” Gabe points out helpfully. Tyson scowls.

“I know that, Landesnerd,” he says, though he’d forgotten. “I’ve got a whole train ride to fix it.”

“Okay,” Gabe agrees, apparently conceding it though Tyson knows he’s still laughing on the inside. “Have a good day at school. Don’t let any of the kids bully you.”

“Have a good day at the office,” Tyson retorts. “Don’t eat any of the other scary lawyers.”

Gabe grins again, all teeth this time. “No promises.”

Tyson rolls his eyes, and heads out.

It’s a normal day at school, which is a good day because all of the crises are basically resolved and all of Tyson’s kids are really responding to his integrating their math class with the art teacher, which he’s pretty proud of, and then after school Tyson does his lesson planning in the classroom for a while before he goes home.

The apartment is still a mess, but Tyson gets down to unpacking—kitchen first, before Gabe has a say. He still texts a picture of the counter with his ice cream maker, popcorn machine, blender, and microwave taking up all the space and sends it to Gabe with a _like my arrangement?_  

He doesn’t get a text back until he’s done with the kitchen—all of that stuff goes in the cupboards, of course, because Tyson’s not actually an animal—and has moved on to the random living room boxes. _So my products get all the bathroom counterspace then?_

_I’m sorry you need so many products to fit your head_ , Tyson retorts, _we can’t all be a natural beauty like me_

Again, it takes a while, then, when Tyson’s finished unpacking and has gone back to lesson planning now that there’s actually a table to do that on, _it’s okay to say you’re jealous, Brutes._

_I am jealous that I can’t have as big a head as you_ , Tyson shoots back. Then he switches to Seamless, because he’s hungry and he wants to see what he’s still in delivery range for, which—score, he’s in range for favorite Vietnamese place now.

He starts to plug in his normal order, then pauses, and adds some more. He doesn’t know when Gabe will be home, but he might as well order some. Worst comes to worst, he’ll eat it for dinner tomorrow.

The food has long since come and gone into Tyson’s stomach by the time Gabe does get home, looking exhausted as he comes in the door. It still looks good on him, of course.

Tyson looks up from where he’s been working on his latest post about the Mexican Japanese fusion place in Williamsburg he tried on Saturday—less good than he wanted, really, it was just confusing—and turns down the hockey game that’s on TV.

“Hey. There’s Vietnamese in the fridge, if you want.”

“Thanks.” Gabe’s staring a little. Tyson reaches up to touch his hair, just in case—but then Gabe shakes his head, and lets the door close behind him. “You’ll make a good housewife someday.”

“Excuse you, I would make an amazing housewife,” Tyson corrects, because he would, even if he can’t really cook for shit. His take out game is strong enough to make up for it. “And also, screw you, maybe I won’t let you have it.”

“Nope it’s mine now.” Gabe’s undoing his tie as he crosses the apartment towards the bedroom. It’s a nice little strip tease, even if it ends when Gabe goes into the bedroom and Tyson unmutes the game.

Gabe comes back out a few minutes later in jeans, and heads back to the kitchen. “Tyson, what is this?”

“Vietnamese.”

“Yeah, but—what?”

“It’s bun bo hue—it’s sort of like pho, it’s their specialty,” Tyson informs him. “Trust me, it’s good.”

“Okay.” Gabe sounds skeptical, but he heats it up then joins Tyson on the couch, kicking his legs out in front of him. “What are you working on?”

“Blog post.” Tyson pushes his computer away. “How was your day?”

“Fine. Long. Yours?”

“Not as long. But I didn’t get any bodily fluids on me today, so I’m counting it as a win.”

Gabe snorts. “Our jobs are very different.” He takes a bite. “Oh, this is good.”

“And you doubted me.” Tyson tsks, then adds, “Can I put that endorsement up?”

“On your blog?” Gabe asks. He always has that little bit of a laugh in his voice when he talks about Tyson’s blog, but it’s not like Tyson blames him. Tyson certainly never imagined he’d be doing anything with his foodie habits other than eating. He really isn’t now, either, except for how there are thousands of people who apparently want to know about his eating habits, which Tyson definitely hadn’t expected. Tyson nods. “Sure.”

“Pic too?” It’s one of the thing Tyson’s readers like about his blog, apparently—pictures of whoever he’s eating with, because his followers are all sick of his face and are apparently charmed by all his large attractive friends.

Gabe grins. “I know that you need my face to drive traffic.”

“I need to see who my real followers are,” Tyson retorts, and pulls out his phone. Gabe takes a forkful of the noodles and holds it up to his mouth, grinning. Tyson takes the picture, inspects it. “God, why are you so photogenic?”

“It’s a gift,” Gabe says seriously, and Tyson shoves at his thigh as he uploads it to his entry on the restaurant. _Gabe the Babe approved!_ He adds.

_He can approve me any day_ , comes a comment almost right away, then another _oh but look how late he’s at Tyson’s!_ Tyson stops reading after that.

They watch the game in companionable silence. Gabe finishes eating and takes out his own laptop, because working until 10 apparently wasn’t enough; Tyson does his own work, and it’s easy until Tyson yawns.

“I’ve got to go to bed,” He decides. Gabe looks up from his computer.

“Take the bed tonight. I’ve still got work to do.”

“If you insist,” Tyson agrees, and hurries to the bedroom before Gabe can think better of it.

///

They fall quickly into a routine, despite how everyone seems to doubt them. Tyson wakes up first and puts coffee on for them; if Gabe manages to get himself up on his first alarm he sees him in the morning, if it takes some snoozes he doesn’t. Gabe also, for all his posturing on healthy foods, never seems to be home enough to cook, so if he’s going to be home at an unreasonable time then Tyson picks something up for him too. Gabe cleans the bathroom because Tyson apparently doesn’t live up to his standards there, and Tyson takes out the trash. People always forget, sometimes Tyson included, that despite how much time he and Gabe spend bickering, Gabe’s one of his best friends, and he’s pretty sure that’s reciprocated.

The only lasting point of contention is the bed situation, because in the past week it’s devolved into a literal race to the bedroom twice, and it’s not good for that to continue. In major part because Gabe’s legs are longer so really, it’s unfair.

“But the couch is so hard,” Gabe complains at drinks, waving his beer glass to emphasize. He, of course, does not spill anything. “And I don’t fit on it.”

“You fit on it fine,” Tyson retorts. He does not wave his glass, because he’d manage to spill it even though it was basically empty, and also because he is considerably more sober then Gabe, who had been working even crazier hours than usual because of some case that had shit hitting the fan, and now apparently needed the detox. Tyson, on the other hand, had tried four different kinds of fries (“for science!” he’d told Nate, who he’d dragged there with him to split the fries) and had a field trip the next day, so he was tipsy but not drunk. “And also, you bought it, so it’s your fault.”

“I didn’t buy it thinking I’d sleep on it!” Gabe protests.

“Not even napping?”

“Well, napping.” Gabe dismisses that.

“Do you sleep differently napping than for the night?” Mikko asks. The table’s silent as everyone considers.

“I think I do,” Nate offers. “I sleep on my stomach at night, but when I’m napping it’s wherever.”

“And sleeping on a chair is fine for a nap,” Mikko adds, “but—”

“That’s just because you’re less picky for a nap,” Kerfy argues. “You could sleep in a chair at night, you just don’t want to.”

“And I could sleep on the couch at night, I just don’t want to,” Gabe concludes. “Now if Tyson had just—”

“How is this my fault?”

“It is literally your fault,” Gabe counters, giving Tyson his most supercilious look. “You were the one who told Josty, oh, you can come over whenever, who cares about Gabe’s back, I—”

“I sleep on it too!”

“Yeah, but you fit.”

“Calling me short, Gabriel?” Tyson demands. Gabe smirks back, very obviously looking down at Tyson.

“If the miniature shoe fits…”

“Just because you’re a Viking giant, doesn’t mean I’m going to stand around here and let you insult me,” Tyson decides, and gets up. Gabe makes a face.

“Tyson…” he complains, reaching out to grab his wrist. Gabe’s hand is warm, and big on Tyson’s arm—solid. Less like he’s holding Tyson back and more like he’s anchoring him.

And maybe Tyson is a little tipsy. He raises an eyebrow. “You want anything else from the bar?” he asks, and Gabe’s face does something else and he lets his hand drop.

“Yes, another beer,” he demands. “To make up for ruining my sleeping experience.”

“Dude, you agreed to this!” Tyson objects, and leaves before Gabe can get in another word.

He manages to get to the bar fairly quickly, and then spends the time at the bar taking a few notes and also chatting with the bartender, because knowing how friendly the staff is is important and also Tyson doesn’t want to just stand here alone.

“So,” the bartender—Kyle—says, as he pulls Gabe’s beer. He’s pretty hot, tall and blonde with a killer smile, and arms that are protesting the shirt they’re trapped in. Tyson is not pretending he is not appreciating the view, because bartenders wear shit like that to be appreciated. “What are you guys over there, a team or something?”

“No, not really. I mean, we started that way, in club hockey, the beer league, but then Gabe got super busy and my school was not into my teaching kids with black eyes all the time and EJ got a promotion, and so now it’s just friends. Well, Kerfy and Comphy play sometimes, I think. But they’re still children.” Tyson looks over, to where EJ has Sven in a headlock and Sven is grinning at him as he bats at his arm. “Or rather, they all are.”

“They are? So you’re not?” Kyle asks. He sets the beer on the table, and pulls out the orange juice for Tyson’s drink. It makes his very tight shirt pull enticingly against his pecs.

Tyson laughs. “Couldn’t you tell? I’m the old man of the group.”

“You don’t look old to me,” he replies, and Tyson grins back. He loves flirting like this, easy and fun and without any real intent on either side.

“Well, I moisturize.” He sighs theatrically. “Some of them have the advantage of looking like Swedish super models. I’m just one wrinkle away from old age.”

Kyle snorts. “Some guys like a mature man.”

“Mature is definitely my middle name,” Tyson agrees easily. “Tyson mature not a super model but doing okay Barrie, that’s what’s on my birth certificate.”

“Just okay?” Kyle asks. He leans down to dig out a lemon slice.

“Well. That depends on the night.” Tyson licks at his lip, because guys always like that.

Kyle definitely watches. “So,” he says, pouring in a generous amount of vodka. Score one for friendliness. “The super model—that your boyfriend?”

Tyson bursts into laughter. “What, Gabe? No.” Then he remembers. “Well, sort of. It’s complicated.”

“Always is with the pretty ones,” Kyle replies, his smile toned down a notch as he slides Tyson’s drink across the counter. “Am I going to get punched, then?”

“Definitely not.” Tyson thinks a second. “Well, probably not. Gabe gets punchy when he’s drunk sometimes. But I don’t think he’d punch the bartender. And don’t worry, I’d protect you. He for sure wouldn’t punch me.” Tyson looks back. At the table, Gabe, Nate, and EJ are discussing something, and looking at Tyson, which means that it’s time to get back before Gabe starts pulling a fuss about how long the beer is taking. “That is, if I get him his beer in time.”

“Well, we can’t have you getting punched, can we?” Kyle asks, and Tyson chuckles again.

“I’d really prefer not to,” he says. “Put this on my tab, yeah? Barrie.”

“Got it,” Kyle says, and salutes him a little as he walks away.

Tyson is going to take his old seat back, but Gabe takes his beer in one hand and then tugs Tyson in next to him with his other. “Took you long enough.”

“I’m sorry I was being a friendly person, Landeskog,” Tyson retorts.

EJ leans around Nate to ask, “So, we had a bet—did you get his number?”

“Whose?”

Gabe takes a loud sip of his drink.

“The bartender,” EJ explains. “Who you were getting all cozy with.”

“Yeah, is Gabe going home alone?” Mikko adds. Gabe glares at all of them indiscriminately.

“Gabe is going home exactly as alone as he wants,” he tells them. “And if Tyson picks up I get the bed, so win win.”

“Unless Tyson brings him back to yours,” EJ points out.

“That might not impress your landlady,” Nate counters.

“She doesn’t know what kinky shit we’re into,” Tyson argues, and nudges Gabe with his shoulder. “Our fake relationship is very adventurous, thank you very much. Right, Landy?”

Gabe doesn’t say anything. Tyson elbows him again, because he should be backing up Tyson instead of staring into space. “Right?”

“Right,” Gabe agrees, shaking his head. He grins down at Tyson, toothy and just a bit predatory. Tyson can feel himself flushing. “Sometimes you need more hands to really make it good.”

Tyson is definitely red there. Gabe had said that like he knew it from experience, which was—something Tyson didn’t need to think about. He’d been in a few configurations of threesomes in his time, but Gabe—well, obviously people would want to invite Gabe into their bed, that was obvious. He was probably bossy, had to make sure everyone was doing everything properly, and he’d definitely be pushy because when wasn’t he, and—not something for Tyson to think about.

“See?” he says, willing those thoughts away with what would be more success if he wasn’t pressed against Gabe knee to hip. “No barrier there.”

“So—did you get his number? Sexile Landy to the couch?”

Tyson shakes his head. “He’d probably deserve it, though. For calling me short.”

“You are short, Brutes”

“Traitor!” Tyson tells Nate, who laughs and sticks his tongue out before something Comphy says gets his attention. Tyson’s ready to be drawn into that conversation too, until Gabe’s arm drapes heavy over his shoulder, tugging him in closer.

“You aren’t really mad, right?” Gabe asks, all earnest drunkenness. “I didn’t mean to call you short. Even if you are. It’s cute, it’s not mean.”

Tyson laughs, because drunk Gabe is always fun. “Don’t worry, I’m not mad.”

“Good.” Gabe doesn’t move his arm, keeps Tyson tucked against him. He really is very solid. And warm. His suit is a little scratchy, but that’s okay. Tyson’s comfortable anyway. “You could have picked up. If you wanted to. He’s hot.”

“Nah, I’m good.” Tyson tells him. “I’d rather be here with you. All, I mean,” he adds. “With you guys.”

Gabe lets out an explosive sigh, and drops his forehead down into Tyson’s hair. He even smells good, it’s amazing and unfair. “God, Tyson.”

“What?” Tyson demands. He is being a good bro. He shouldn’t get ‘god Tyson’-ed. That usually comes when he said something he shouldn’t have, and this was definitely not the case.

“Nothing,” Gabe says into Tyson’s hair. He takes an audible breath, then lifts his head. “You are short, though.”

“I am not short! I am above average height! It’s not my fault you’re all giants!” Tyson protests, like he always does, and he can feel Gabe laugh against his side.

It’s a good night, and Tyson is making himself remember that as he lets them into the building, Gabe giggling into the back of his neck. He is considerably drunker than he had been, and a drunk Gabe always gets handsy. Tyson doesn’t really mind—he’s not especially big on personal space himself, and there’s a part of him that gets a little thrill out of being allowed to see Gabe like this, his barriers let down and all his smooth charm gone. But it does make opening the door difficult, because Gabe is draped over Tyson’s back and he’s commenting on how long it’s taking Tyson like he’s not the reason for it.

“Tyson,” Gabe whines, “I’m cold, come on.”

“Is that why you’re trying to get close enough to wear my skin?” Tyson asks, as the lock finally clicks. Gabe laughs, loud. “Shut up!” Tyson tells him. “People are sleeping.”

“You’re nice. You’re always so nice.” Gabe shifts so that his arm’s around Tyson’s shoulders. “To everyone except me. You’re mean to me.”

“I’m not mean to you! Or not meaner than you are to me.”

“Yeah, but that’s how we are.” Gabe grins. “I like how we are.”

When Gabe sparkles at Tyson like that, it’s impossible not to smile back at him. “I like how we are too,” Tyson agrees, because he does. He always has, ever since those first hockey games, when this too talented, too attractive pre-law student showed up and started bossing them all around and taking himself way too seriously so Tyson had no choice but to needle him until he calmed down. “Even when you’re being a dick.”

“You’re the dick,” Gabe mutters, but his arm’s tight around Tyson’s shoulders and he’s putting more weight on Tyson than he usually would as they stumble up to their apartment.

“Hey.” Josty’s face peeks over the railing. He looks a little hesitant, which is probably fair given that they’re about one second away from overbalancing and falling down the stairs. “Good night?” He also seems a little like he’s laughing at them, which is also fair.

“We had fun. This one more than me,” Tyson tells him, gesturing to Gabe, who, now that they’ve stopped, has fallen over Tyson’s back again. “Sorry if we were being too loud, someone doesn’t understand volume control when he’s drunk.”

“You don’t understand volume control,” Gabe shoots back, in what is probably supposed to be an undertone but come out loud enough Josty snorts and Tyson winces because it was right next to his ear.

“I’m not the one shouting,” he retorts, and feels Gabe’s smile against his skin.

“Tyson, we both know you’re usually the one shouting,” Gabe replies, again in that not-really-an-undertone except this time with a purr that makes Tyson flush, again. He is loud in bed and Gabe does know that, because they’ve shared walls before, but that’s neither here nor there especially when Gabe is basically wrapped around him.

“That’s not what I meant,” Tyson protests, and Gabe chuckles, low in his throat. “And you need to get inside, come on.”

“You need help?” Josty asks. He’s watching skeptically as Gabe once again almost over balances them.

“Nah, I can handle Gabe the lightweight over here.”

“I’m not a lightweight!”

“Okay,” Tyson tells him, as condescending as he can. Josty’s definitely laughing at them now.

“Where did you guys go?” Josty asks, and there’s an expression on his face—something like he’s not sure he’s supposed to ask but he wants to know.

“This new place in Brooklyn Heights. Kickass fries. Cute bartenders.”

“Bartender wasn’t that cute,” Gabe mutters. “He didn’t even try to get your number.”

Tyson ignores him. “You should come next time.”

“Oh. I mean. I had work to do, and you guys have your group, and—”

“So, you’re coming. Right, Gabe?”

“Hm?” Gabe hums against Tyson’s hair again. Tyson’s not sure what his deal is with Tyson’s hair tonight, because he seems obsessed with it. It’s not like it can hold a candle to Gabe’s hair, even messy with his night like it is.

“Just say yes.”

“No.”

“See, Gabe agrees.”

“Gabe doesn’t agree.”

“Gabe would agree if he wasn’t being a sleepy toddler,” Tyson concludes, and twists to avoid the punch to his shoulder that gets him.

“Okay?” Josty looks confused, which is probably about right. “I’ll let you get him to bed, then?”

“See you!”

“Night, Josty!” Gabe calls after him. “Tyson’s going to make me sleep on the couch tonight and he’s the worst.”

“Oh my god,” Tyson laughs, shoving at Gabe as he finally gets the door to their apartment unlocked. “Shut up. You’re going to make Josty think our relationship is in trouble.”

“You wouldn’t make me sleep on the couch if we were actually dating,” Gabe complains, throwing himself onto said couch like some sort of fainting Victorian maiden.

“Sure I would, if you were being this whiney all the time.”

Gabe smiles, slow and smug. “No, you wouldn’t,” he says, and there’s that purr again.

“Stop it before you get us into trouble,” Tyson tells him. “I can’t deal with you like that.”

“Like what?”

“Fuck off, you know what you’re doing.” Gabe always knows what he’s doing, with his eyes and his smile and his voice.

“You know what you’re doing,” Gabe retorts.

“I’m just standing here. You’re the one being all—” Tyson lowers his voice into a bad imitation of Gabe. “I’ll make you scream, Tyson.”

“I didn’t say that.” Gabe thinks a second. “Did I?”

“You might as well have.” Gabe’s sprawled over the couch, looking huge and bitable and happy and drunk, and Tyson doesn’t know what to do with any part of his body. “Josty definitely did not believe you were sleeping on the couch.”

“Good, because the couch sucks. It’s so short and hard and it’s the worst.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“It is!” Gabe whines, and Tyson rolls his eyes. The couch honestly isn’t that bad, if you aren’t a spoiled princess like Gabe. “Tysonnnn. I’m drunk you should sleep here tonight.”

“Not a chance,” Tyson informs him, and runs back to the bedroom before he gets a chance to be proven wrong. Gabe’s not so drunk that he needs to actually be put to bed.

Tyson strips off quickly down to just his boxers and a t-shirt, brushes his teeth, and gets into bed, apparently before Gabe has moved at all.

Then he lies in bed, staring at the ceiling. He can hear Gabe fussing outside the door.

“Oh, fuck it,” he mutters, and gets up to open the door.

The light is off, and Gabe’s made the couch up into the bed, but he’s clearly awake enough that he blinks up at Tyson when the door opens. “Tys?”

“Come on.”

“I get the bed tonight?”

“We both get the bed tonight, this is stupid.”

Gabe blinks again, alcohol slow. “What?”

“The bed is massive, and you’re the biggest drama queen in the world about the couch. We can share. Come on.”

Slowly, Gabe gets to his feet, unfolding all six feet of muscle with nothing but boxers to cover it up. “You want to share?” he repeats, brow still furrowed like he’s confused.

“Yes, you idiot. Anything to stop your whining. Now come on, I’m tired.”

“Okay.” As soon as Gabe starts stumbling towards the door, Tyson turns around to get back into bed himself. Because he’s the one being nice, he chooses his ideal side—the one farthest from the door—and gets in, shoving the blankets down.

Gabe appears in the doorway a second later, his pillow in his hands and a more uncertain look on his face than Tyson’s ever seen. “Are you sure?” he asks, hovering in the doorway. “I don’t—if you don’t want to, I can just…”

“Oh my god, just stop being a drama queen both ways and get in,” Tyson snaps. “I want to go to sleep and I can’t if I feel guilty about you being on the couch with your feet hanging off.”

Gabe shuts the door. “So I’m right about the couch being too short?”

“No, you’re just too tall,” Tyson retorts, as Gabe puts his pillow down and gets into bed. Tyson was right; the bed is definitely big enough that there’s plenty of room between them even though neither of them are particularly small. “Good night, Gabe,” he says firmly. “If you snore, I’m pushing you out.”

“Night, Tyson,” Gabe murmurs, and in the dark, it sounds soft.

Tyson expects to lie there a while. It’s been a while since Tyson properly shared a bed—he broke up with his last boyfriend months ago, and the people who have been in and out of his bed since haven’t really stayed—and he’s not used to it anymore, the added heat of an extra body, the way he can feel the shifts in the bed as Gabe moves in his sleep, the noise of Gabe’s breathing.

But he is tired, and a little tipsy, and so he’s asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow.

///

Tyson wakes up to his alarm and a low moaning from next to him, which takes him a second to place before he rolls over and sees Gabe’s head on the pillow next to him, all messy hair and scrunched closed eyes and sleep-flushed cheeks lit by the morning sun. Someone needs to paint him, probably.

Just after the alarm finishes going off. Tyson fumbles with his phone to shut it off, then gets out of bed. Gabe mutters something, mostly unintelligible and also possibly in Swedish. Tyson shakes his head, unwillingly fond. “Go back to sleep,” he tells him, and goes to the shower.

Gabe might not have actually made it back to sleep, or he’s moving quicker than usual, because despite Tyson having to get out of the apartment earlier than usual for the field trip, Gabe still makes it into the kitchen while Tyson’s still finishing his coffee.

“Morning,” Tyson tells him, and pushes his coffee mug at Gabe. Gabe grunts, and takes a sip before collapsing onto the stool next to Tyson.

A few sips later, Gabe opens his eyes completely, and looks at Tyson. Despite himself, Tyson thinks about last night—about the purr in Gabe’s voice, the way he’d pressed against Tyson. It’s not like they didn’t flirt all the time. He’s not sure what about that was sticking so much. “Hey, I—thanks, for last night,” Gabe says, and Tyson snorts.

“I think that’s the first time someone’s said that to me when I didn’t put out,” he says, and now Gabe goes a little red. Tyson refuses to feel bad. This is payback for the five million times Tyson’s said something stupid and Gabe mocked him.

“Well, this time you didn’t even have to,” Gabe retorts, clearly trying to bravado his way through it. That strategy works a lot better on Gabe than it does on Tyson. “But seriously, thanks. For getting me home and letting me share the bed.”

“What was I supposed to do, leave you at the bar? Let you whine forever about the couch?” Tyson shrugs. “This was just so you’d shut up about it.”

“Right,” Gabe agrees, but he nudges Tyson with his shoulder. Tyson knocks his shoulder back, companionable.

“You know,” he says, because now he’s thinking about the couch and it’s not that bad but the bed is so much better. And Gabe hadn’t been bad to sleep with. “We could just—keep sharing. Last night worked, right?”

Gabe’s eyes go a little big. “Um. Yeah.”

“So that way neither of us have to fuck with our backs,” Tyson reasons. “And it’s not like you snored or did anything weird or stole the blankets. And clearly I’m great to sleep with. And if either of us does pick up, then we can figure out the couch then. It makes sense.”

“Yeah.” Gabe looks at Tyson, then down at his coffee. There’s something withdrawn about him, something that Tyson rarely sees in confident, suave Gabe. “It makes sense.”

“Great.” Tyson looks at the time on the clock, then gets up. “I’ve got to go to school. I won’t be back until late, probably.”

“Hopefully I’ll be back earlier, but who knows.” Gabe spins on his stool as Tyson grabs his bag and puts on his shoes. “Have a good day at the office!”

“You too, honey bear,” Tyson retorts, blowing a kiss, and Gabe’s laughing as Tyson shuts the door. It’s a good look to leave on.

///

“You’re sharing a bed now?” Nate asks, as he takes a bit of his enchilada. He’s getting red sauce on his shirt. Tyson debates whether or not to tell him, and decides that what’s friendship but not telling friends they’re embarrassing themselves? Also, he knows Nate’s about to make a lot of fun of him, so this is preemptive revenge.

“Not like. _Sharing_ _a bed_ ,” Tyson retorts, complete with finger quotes that he makes with his fork in his hand. Then he takes another bite of his tacos. They’re a little salty, and sort of small. Tyson hums. “How do you feel about your enchilada size?”

“I don’t know, there’s food?”

“Nate,” Tyson complains. He doesn’t know why he bothers.

“Yeah, I guess there’s not much. Less than that place we went to a few months ago, the one up in East Harlem?”

“Yeah, I think so too.” Tyson makes a note on his phone. His readers like knowing the real concerns about a restaurant.

“So, you’re sleeping with Landy.”

“What? No,” Tyson sputters. “I’m not sleeping with him, come on.”

“You are sleeping in the same bed.”

“Yeah, but like, there’s space between us.”

“So, you’re sleeping in the same bed, but you aren’t cuddling? That makes it less weird?”

“It’s not weird, though. It’s weird how weird it isn’t.” Tyson takes another bite. Maybe he likes how salty it is. “Like, it’s chill.”

“Brutes, I love you, but you have never been chill in your life.”

Tyson waves his fork, acknowledging the truth about that. “Yeah, and Gabe isn’t either usually, but it’s fine. It’s bros. It’s like if you and me were sharing a bed. Except you know, Gabe’s hot like the sun.” Nate makes an offended face. “And so are you! But not in a bangable way, you’re like my brother. But definitely if you weren’t I’d be into it.”

It gets a smile out of Nate, and Tyson kicks his foot. “And if you’ve forgotten that, bro, we need to get you laid, because it’s a crime. This weekend? We’ll go out, I’ll wingman.”

“Because you can’t hook up, because you literally already have a man in your bed.”

“It’s not a big deal!” Tyson is maybe louder than he meant to, and he gets some looks. He drops his voice. “Look, ask Gabe, it’s not.” It isn’t. Tyson’s been handling the sight of sleeping Gabe perfectly well, even if he’s a softer sort of hot when Tyson wakes up and he’s sleeping through Tyson’s alarm, his lashes inhumanly long against his cheeks and the sun catching in his hair.

He’s also a dick though, and definitely has managed to throw some elbows if it takes Tyson too long to shut off his alarm, so Tyson thinks it’s even. And Gabe hasn’t been weird about it either, other than that one time that Tyson hadn’t quite gotten to sleep yet when Gabe came in and Tyson had just managed to blink awake to see Gabe staring at him like someone had boarded him. But when Tyson had mumbled something asking if it was okay, Gabe had nodded and that look had gone away and then it wasn’t weird again. “He’s super hot, whatever. He also snores sometimes and sings ABBA in the shower because he’s a walking cliché, it’s not all glitter and roses in the Barrie-Landeskog household.”

“Your name goes first?”

“Well duh,” Tyson tells him. Nate smiles back, but it’s tight—tighter than Tyson would like. Tyson’s been putting on his best show here, and Nate’s still wound up, even with all of Tyson’s drama to amuse him. “Can you imagine how smug Gabe would be if he went first? And it sounds so much worse. Landeskog’s hard enough to work in as it is.”

Nate snorts. “Is he?”

Tyson knows he’s blushing, but it got a smile out of Nate so he’ll take it. “Fuck you. And don’t say it,” he warns, because he knows the joke Nate always makes after that. “Come on, do we need another margarita?”

“No way, I’ve got class tomorrow.”

“Class is overrated.”

“Says the teacher?”

“Well, class that doesn’t involve coloring.” Nate snorts. Tyson waits. He knows his bro.

Sure enough,

“It’s just—I’ve got to do well,” Nate mutters, looking down at his plate. “I haven’t been getting any bites on any of my clerkship apps.”

“Didn’t you just start applying, like, a few months ago?”

“Yeah, but. I don’t know. It’s weird. Judges are weird. And it’s complicated because I’m Canadian so I can only work for some judges and get paid, so…”

“And you really want this?” Tyson asks, around a mouthful of tacos.

Nate shrugs, and looks down at his plate. “I should do it,” he says, and Tyson knows what he means. Tyson knows all the pressure Nate’s carried on his shoulders for longer than someone his age should, the dreams of his parents and a whole community, and the things he feels like he has to live up to. Tyson’s no stranger to needing to live up to people, but he knows he doesn’t carry it as much as Nate does.

“Then you’ll do it,” Tyson tells him. “You’re the most kickass person I know, come on, and you’re going to be a badass lawyer. Any judge would be lucky to have you work for them.” It gets a smile out of Nate, albeit a weak one, so, “Well, if you don’t get anything, tell me and I’ll go beat them up,” Tyson offers, “I’m not American either, they can’t do anything to me.”

Nate laughs. “Not sure that’s how it works.”

“Are you a real lawyer yet?” Tyson retorts, shaking a fork at him. “Then I don’t want to hear it.”

“If you did get in trouble, at least you have a boyfriend to defend you,” Nate replies, and Tyson sighs heavily because nothing cheers people up like making fun of him.

“Gabe would probably laugh at me,” he says, and then adds, “Are you saying you wouldn’t defend me?”

“I thought I wasn’t a real lawyer. And are you kidding? Gabe would throw down for you in a heartbeat.”

“That’s just because he likes to fight,” Tyson points out. “He’d throw down for anyone if someone were like, bullying them or something. It’s his knight in shining armor complex. He had to really go full Galahad, you know? Match his hair and whole…prince schtick.”

“Are you sure you’re okay sharing a bed with him and his whole prince schtick?” Nate is definitely laughing at him now.

Tyson shrugs. “Gabe is gorgeous, this isn’t news. I’m handling it.”

“Handling it, or handling him?” Nate asks, with a face he’s clearly trying to keep straight, and Tyson bursts into laughter loud enough to make everyone around them look at him. Tyson flushes, but ignores them. It was a good joke, and Nate’s grinning too, beaming like he does when he knows he’s done well, so win win.

“You know, Gabe’d be the one to talk to about the clerkship shit,” Tyson points out, putting his tacos down to go for some of the chips and salsa they’d been given.

Nate bites at his lip. “Yeah, but, you know how he is—he’d try to fix it. I’d rather talk to you.” Tyson ducks his head, because that was a lot of emotion and he knows it’s all over his face.

“Okay, we’re getting dessert,” he decides, and flags down the waitress.

Tyson is happily full when he gets home, because in his book there’s no better way to distract someone from being stressed then stuffing them full of flan and churros. It was for the blog anyway; dessert is an important part of any restaurant. He can justify it as that, at least.

The lights are on when he gets in, and he can hear the shower running, so he drops onto the couch and grabs his computer to start writing up his immediate thoughts on the restaurant.

His phone buzzes, and a second later the notification pops up on his screen from Katie. _Hear about the Simons’ divorce?_

_Finally,_ he types back. One of their twins is in his class and the other is in Katie’s, and he really doesn’t like how withdrawn Melissa’s been getting as the fighting at home gets worse. And he _really_ doesn’t like how Melissa lingers, especially on days her dad is supposed to pick her up, like she doesn’t want to leave with him. _Is it official yet?_

_Don’t know. Got the goss from Leslie._

_I’ll investigate tomorrow_. Katie has her connections with the administration, but Tyson’s got an in at the front office. Mainly, he really amuses the main secretary—she says he reminds her of her grandson, but also she really likes it when Tyson flirts with her. Tyson’s decided it’s better not to ask questions. Also, Tyson’s bros with the janitors, and no one knows more gossip than them. _Do the kids know?_

_No idea. Confer at lunch to see if we should talk to them?_

_Yeah_ , Tyson agrees. _Maybe I’ll make cookies tonight. Just because._

_Way to show me up, brownnoser. I’ll make Jamie bake too, and then he’ll be mad at you._

_Don’t take it out on me just because your boyfriend’s too busy to make you cookies_

_You’re just jealous I got the boyfriend to bake me cookies,_ Katie replies, and Tyson makes a face. He knows it’s all in good fun—there’s a longstanding joke between the three of them that Katie beat Tyson to the punch on Jamie, like Tyson didn’t know Jamie when he was sixteen and the most awkward kid alive and like he didn’t introduce the two of them—but, well, low blow.

_You’re jealous I get to bang all the people and you’re stuck with one_ , he retorts, then looks up as the door to the bedroom swings open and Gabe comes out. Basically just Gabe. With nothing but a towel around his waist. Still with water dripping down from his hair from his shower onto his bare chest. Tyson short circuits a little, because seriously, that’s just unfair. Tyson has seen this intro to porn before.

“Hey, I didn’t hear you come in.”

 “Um, yeah.” Tyson swallows. Tries to put his brain back on. Gabe is definitely smirking like he can tell what Tyson’s thinking, which is probably because Tyson’s staring at where a drop of water is making its way from Gabe’s beard down his neck to his collarbone. “I got in a little while ago.”

“Have a nice dinner with Nate?” Gabe asks, and wanders towards the couch. Still basically naked.

_Yeah? Banging anyone hot lately?_ she asks, because Tyson has not gotten around to telling her about the saga of his rooming situation, which is good because now he’s read banging and is looking at a mostly naked Gabe and it’s a lot.

“Brutes?” Gabe prompts, and Tyson blinks.

“Oh, yeah. It was good. Not my favorite Mexican place, but one of the better ones in the Village, I think. Not as good as if you go to Spanish Harlem, but it’s got space and free chips, so that makes up for a lot. And the flan is great.” Gabe’s smiling at him now, and that’s even more. “What?”

“No leftovers for me?” he asks, teasing. It’s definitely not what he was thinking, but Tyson’s okay with that. Gabe’s—he can be intense, and that smile had shades of that intensity, and shades of something else, something softer, that Tyson’s been seeing more of recently and it’s confusing and not something he really wants to think about, so instead, what comes out of his mouth is,

“You wouldn’t defend me against a federal judge, so no, you don’t get any.”

Gabe’s clearly surprised into a laugh, loud and open. “Have you been arrested?”

“I will, once I go threaten a judge into offering Nate a clerkship,” Tyson explains, and Gabe laughs again.

“Seriously?”

“He’s stressed about it. But don’t tell him I told you, he didn’t want to talk to you about it.”

Gabe’s smile twists a little. “I would help,” he protests.

“Yeah, but you’re intimidating and successful. I just teach kids not to eat glue.” Tyson assures Gabe. It’s not Gabe’s fault that he’s a fixer and Tyson’s a sympathetic ear. “Anyway, he’s stressed because he’s not perfect, so I’m beating up a judge to take him on, and then you aren’t going to defend me.”

“Aw, Tys. I’ll always defend you.” Gabe ruffles Tyson’s hair, which brings him awfully close. If Tyson looked up, it would just be—Gabe’s skin. He could probably just duck his head and accidentally lick, if he wanted. Which he shouldn’t think about, because pretty soon, he’s going to be in bed with all of that, and so far he’s managed to avoid awkward boners and he’d like to continue that.

So instead, Tyson bats at Gabe’s hand. “Stay away from my hair, you dick,” he tells him, and Gabe smiles again. “How was your day, anyway? You weren’t texting.”

Gabe’s still smiling at Tyson, a little incredulous, almost. “Shitty, honestly. The partner on one of my cases keeps asking things that are impossible, and I can’t convince him of that. And so it’s us junior associates who are on a stupid wild goose chase that won’t work.”

“Sucks,” Tyson tells him sympathetically. “Did you go hit things in the gym until you felt better?”

“I—yeah, the gym.” Gabe’s hand is still just above Tyson’s hair. “It’s okay. Better now.” He shakes his head, like he’s clearing it. “Better to be home.”

It strikes a chord in Tyson, to hear Gabe call the apartment home. It is, he knows; they signed a lease, they’re stuck here for a year unless something goes very wrong. But—home is more than just the place where you stay. Tyson’s lived in a lot of places in his life, as he trailed his father across two continents. Only a few of those were homes.

“Yeah, well,” Tyson mutters, instead of dealing with that. Then his computer dings with an email—another comment on his blog—which gives him an excuse to look away.  “Go put on clothes.”

Gabe’s face does something simultaneously smirky, hurt, and something else Tyson can’t identify. “You’re used to me in a lot less,” he replies, though, all smirk, and Tyson gulps because he’s been doing a really good job not thinking about that.

“Well I have to write this up, and you need to stop distracting me.”

Gabe’s definitely smug now. “I’m distracting?”

“Fuck off, you know what you look like.” Tyson knows he’s red. “If you didn’t you wouldn’t be as exhibitionist as you are. You don’t see me parading around naked, do you? That’s because I know what I look like too. So either go put on clothes or go be naked in the bedroom.”

Gabe makes a noise that sounds mostly like he’s choking, and Tyson drops his head. Someday, he will learn how not to make an idiot of himself in front of Gabe. “You know what I mean,” he mutters.

“Yeah,” Gabe agrees, then clears his throat. “Fine.”  

“Get out of the living room,” Tyson retorts, and Gabe flips him off as he goes.

“There’s some leftover flan in the fridge!” Tyson calls after him, as the door closes, then,  _No_ _L_ Tyson replies to Katie, late but it’s something to distract him. To remind him. To not think about Gabe actually naked in their bedroom. _But I could be._

Then he puts his phone aside, and starts writing properly. He has to get this up by tomorrow.

///

Tyson’s got the TV on a few days later, hockey highlights playing in the background as he fields emails. There’s the school ones first, of course—parents asking questions, planning for the glow sticks experiment demonstration because it’s still unclear if Tyson needs to get releases for that, lesson plans—but Tyson’s on top of his shit there, so he’d finished most of that at school, and he’s mainly moved on to his blog.

He starts with the ‘oh my god I love your blog’ messages; those are easy enough to reply to. The ‘wow your friends are hot are they single?’ messages are only a little harder, and mainly only because Tyson saves the best of them to show to the boys. Well, most of them; Gabe doesn’t need his ego boosted any more than it already is.

The restaurant recommendations he saves to a different folder to check out—he tries to do as many of those as possible. The whole point of his blog is that he gets the cheap, neighborhood places, not the big name places, and the best way to find those out is through these messages.

There’s the usual hate mail, which Tyson also saves the best of because some of it’s super funny, even if he doesn’t reply to any of it.

Then there’s _hey, can you tell us more about Gabe? He’s been popping up a lot more! Is he your boyfriend?_ Tyson snorts, and forwards that right to Nate and Gabe. _Guess we’re doing something right!_ , he tells them, and keeps going.

Nate must be bored, because he replies almost immediately. _There are still more people who ship us though, right?_

Judging by the messages, _yeah don’t worry you’ve still got top billing._

_What’s shipping?_ Is Gabe’s contribution, and Tyson rolls his eyes.

_Do you even know what the internet is? You’re such a nerd._

_I think I’m actually not a nerd, if I don’t know this._

_It’s when Tyson’s readers think we’re in love_ , Nate replies, probably trying to bring them back on track.

_And write stories_ , Tyson adds, because he hasn’t actually read any but he knows it’s out there.

_And more think you’re into Nate than me?_ Gabe messages back—he must be on the train, if he’s replying this fast— _I live with you!_

_You can’t get in the way of true love_ , Tyson tells him. There are a few more emails asking about thing he said about the restaurant, then—

Shit. Tyson reads the email, then rereads it. Then once more. Then slowly, he closes his computer.

Of course, his phone buzzes immediately anyway. _Nayson 4eva_ is Nate’s contribution.

Tyson swallows, and picks up his phone. _You don’t take me to nice places anymore. Can you blame me for finding a replacement?_

_I work so hard to put a roof over your head, and this is the thanks I get?_

_Excuse you, I was the one who put this roof over our head._ Tyson can’t resist. He opens his computer again. The email is still there—and no matter how many times he reads it, it still says the same thing. He’s not hallucinating. He was definitely invited to be a guest on Biz-Nasty does New York. On one of the biggest exploring New York City style podcasts in the city. 

He forwards it to Nate, with _I’m not hallucinating?_ added. He can’t—this is insane. He just blogs about the food he likes. People just like him because he’s honest and he’s got hot friends. He shouldn’t—what would he do on a podcast?

_NO YOU AREN’T!_ Nate replies. _Bro, that’s amazing!_

It is, Tyson knows. It’s amazing. It’s what every blogger wants. It’ll get him exposure like no one’s business.

Tyson closes his computer again.

_You wouldn’t have gotten the apartment without me, so I think I put it over our head_ , Gabe’s retorted, and Tyson smiles at that. That’s easy. Gabe and him bantering is something he can do.

_You can think that_ , Tyson tells him.

They want him. Him. He’s not—he’s just a blogger. He never even meant to be that. He…

A knock on the door jolts Tyson out of the haze, and he sits up straight. Gabe wouldn’t knock. “Yeah?” he calls.

“Hey,” comes Josty’s voice. “It’s Tyson—Josty.”

That’ll do, to fill up the apartment. Tyson gets up to open the door.


	3. Chapter 3

It is indeed Josty, holding another plate of cookies. Tyson steps back to let him in. “Hey,” he says, then takes a second look. Josty’s in sweats and he’s got bags under his eyes like no one’s business, and his eyes themselves are a little manic. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I just—I got extra cookies, I thought you might want some.”

“I’d never say no to cookies.” Tyson takes the cookies from Josty before he drops them, then shuts the door behind him. “But like, I’m happy to get cookies, but you don’t have to bribe me into coming by.”

“It’s not a bribe,” Josty says extremely unconvincingly. “I just knew you liked cookies, so I—”

“Okay, yeah, whatever, come on in. Do you want something? Water? A beer? I don’t think I’m legally allowed to give you caffeine right now.”

“What do you mean?” Josty demands.

“That you look like you’re already above the legal limit.” Tyson thinks about the timing. “Midterms already?”

Josty nods. “Kicking my ass.”

Tyson hums, then, “Want to watch the game with me?”

“I shouldn’t. I should—”

“Study breaks are a thing, come on.” Tyson wheedles. “Sit down. Have a cookie.”

Josty smiles despite himself. “I had one on the way over.”

“Have another. You can never have too many.” Tyson grabs one, waves it under Josty’s nose like he might to a dog. He knows what someone who wants to be convinced looks like. He wouldn’t have some here if he didn’t want this. “Come on.”

“Fine.” Josty collapses onto the couch, orients towards the TV.  

“Hungry?” Tyson asks. “There are some leftovers if you want.”

“What kind?”

“Um—we have some Korean, some dumplings, some of this cool Greek fusion place, some ramen—” Josty’s eyes are widening, and Tyson shrugs. “I like food.”

“Yeah. Um. I mean. I’ve had a lot of ramen.”

“So something solid. I think the Greek has vegetables.” Tyson heads to the kitchen. There is in fact some souvlaki, which doesn’t even need to be heated up, so he dumps it onto a plate and grabs a fork. When he gets back, the volume on the TV has been turned up. “Here, eat.”

“Thanks.” Josty takes the place and starts to inhale. Ah, to be twenty again.

Tyson takes a cookie on his own, and watches the game. His computer is sitting on the table. He knows what’s on there. Maybe they didn’t mean it. Maybe they meant someone else. Maybe it’s the sort of thing where by guest they mean he’ll have one line. He can’t do a podcast, that’s ridiculous. He’s enough of a mess in writing, he can’t imagine what it would be like in person.

Josty’s apparently very engaged by the game on the food, but Tyson can see him unwinding a little more and more, especially as Tyson starts to yell at the TV when the ref makes a bad call. It gets another smile out of Josty.

The game switches to an ad, and Tyson’s thinking about picking up his phone again, when—“How did you come out to your parents?” Josty asks, like it tumbles out of him. Then he flushes. “I mean—if that’s too personal, you don’t have to answer.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Tyson leans back, grinning. “I think I was like fifteen and I had just kissed a guy for the first time and I came home and blurted that out in the middle of my mom’s story about insurance, or something.” He chuckles. 

“And that was fine?”

Tyson shrugs. “Yeah. I mean, I bet they knew. You might not have noticed, but I’m not subtle.”

Josty snorts. Tyson grins back at him, but Josty’s gone serious again, not looking at Tyson. “And to your friends?”

“Which ones? Actually, it doesn’t matter. They probably caught me making out with a guy. Or like, talking about how I wanted to make out with one. Or just being a mess around a hot guy. Or flirting with one.” Tyson knows who he is. “Again, I’m not subtle.”

Josty doesn’t really laugh at that one. “And they didn’t treat you differently?”

Another shrug. “I never really came out as much as I didn’t keep it a secret, so there wasn’t really a chance. I moved around a lot as a kid, so there weren’t many people at school who knew me before and after, and my best bro in the last place I lived was super solid—he’s in New York now, I should introduce you, Jamie’s the best. And then in college I found Nate and Gabe and the guys pretty quickly, and they were always solid, so even if someone else was shitty, I had them.”

Josty’s brows draw together. Tyson manages not to say what he thinks—that he’s not sure Josty has that group that he knows won’t let him down, no matter what.

“Have you and Gabe been dating since then?”

Tyson manages not to swallow his tongue. They hadn’t discussed this. Hadn’t thought they’d need to. Tyson’s really shit at lying, this is going to go so badly. “Um. No.” Fuck. “We’ve been friends since college, but—no.”

“Still, must be nice. Having a friend who knows what you’re dealing with.” Josty traces a line on his hoodie.

“Well, you have us.” Tyson kicks at his shin. “Don’t worry. If you want cute boys, I can hook you up. Or cute girls. Or cute non-gender conforming people. I’ve got all of them.”

“I don’t want your sloppy seconds,” Josty protests, but he’s laughing too.

“A, none of my seconds are sloppy, they’re all excellent. B, I haven’t hooked up with all of them! I know a lot of cute people I haven’t hooked up with.”

That, of course, is when the door swings open. “I agreed to the plan,” Gabe starts, already talking as he walks in, “So really, I think—”

Josty straightens, suddenly tense again, which is probably good honestly because it distracts him long enough that Tyson can interrupt, “Hey babe!” he yelps, stressing the last word. Gabe’s eyes widen, then he sees Josty and relaxes again. “You’re just in time. Tell Josty that I know plenty of hot people I haven’t hooked up with.”

Gabe leans down to take off his shoes. He’s still in his suit, and it is, as always, just the decent side of too-tight and all around too much. “Sure, there are some,” he agrees, his voice muffled.

“There are plenty!” Tyson protests. He can’t point out the most obvious example, who is standing right there in front of him.

“I mean, unless you’ve only met ugly people since you and Gabe started dating…” Josty points out, quiet but sharp, and Tyson laughs.

“Yeah, good point! There are all of those.”

“Sure.” Gabe sounds a little short, and there’s definitely something a little less than jovial on his face as he wanders in. It fades when Tyson makes a face at him where Josty can’t see him, trying to ask a question about what’s wrong but probably just looking like an idiot. “Why are you talking about Tyson’s hook ups anyway?”

Tyson glances at Josty, who looks a little deer in headlights. Okay, apparently not talking about this with everyone. So Tyson says the first thing that comes to mind. “Um, I was telling him about how we got together, and that was the prologue.” 

“You had to set the scene by showing how slutty you were before?”

“Are you slut-shaming, Landeskog?” Tyson asks, trying to stay even but unable to keep the bite out of his voice. He likes people and he doesn’t care what people think about it, but that was more pointed than their usual teasing. If Gabe had a problem with that, he can screw himself.

Gabe pauses, then shakes his head. “No, of course not. Sorry.” He lets out a long breath. “Long day.” He gives Tyson a crooked smile, which Tyson knows really is an apology.

“Well, for that, you get to tell the story,” Tyson decides. Gabe’s a better liar than he is anyway.

“Oh, about how you got drunk and jumped me?”

Josty bursts out laughing as Tyson sputters. “That is not what happened!” He tries to glare and communicate ‘you better come up with a better story or I’m not giving you the leftovers from the Vietnamese place you love’. Gabe smirks back, and gets back to his feet, taking off his jacket as he goes.

“Fine.” He drops his jacket on a chair, but instead of sitting down on it, comes over to perch on the arm of the couch next to Tyson, so his hip’s against Tyson’s bicep and Tyson has to look up even more to see his face. “So I’d seen him with every other person in New York—”

“He is definitely exaggerating.” Tyson puts in.

“And he’d broken up with his girlfriend—the other teacher, with the low voice.”

“You know her name perfectly well. We went out for months.”

Gabe makes a superior face. “I’ve got better things to do than remember your lovers’ names.”

“Wow, love your investment in my life.”

“It’s not like they ever lasted more than a few months.” Gabe’s hand brushes against Tyson’s shoulder.

Ouch. Tyson glares. He’s not wrong, but whatever. So Tyson’s never found someone who wants to settle down with him. He’s only in his 20s, it’s fine. “Not before you, anyway,” Tyson reminds him. They don’t have a timeline, but it wouldn’t make sense for them to only have been dating a few months before they moved in.

Gabe grins, all teeth. “Before me,” he agrees, and there’s a fierceness in that smile that makes Tyson shiver.

“Anyway,” Tyson prompts.

“Anyway,” Gabe goes on. His thumb is still resting against Tyson’s back. Josty’s watching them like he’s never seen better TV. “You’d broken up with Molly—”

“Told you you knew her name!”

Gabe ignores Tyson. “And you’d done your rebounding, but you were still sad and moaning about how you were going to be alone forever—”

“Doesn’t sound like me,” Tyson protests, though he definitely had done that. He tended to get morose after breakups.

“You got drunk and proposed to Nate so he’d never leave you,” Gabe tells him, half laughing and half still horrified. “You called it a broposal.”

“Right! I’d forgotten about that.” Tyson grins as Josty tries to muffle his laughter in his fist. “Good times.” He grabs his phone. 

_Remember my broposal?_ He asks Nate. _You never did give me an answer_.

“And I was sick of it, when I was right there,” Gabe goes on. “Single, and his best friend—”

“Nate’s going to fight you for that.”

“And prepared to date him despite how he spends his entire budget on ice cream.”

 “Prepared, wow,” Tyson retorts, as he tells Nate, _Also Gabe thinks he’s my best friend_. “So romantic. You’d deign to date me. I’m honored. Maybe I’m not prepared to date you.”

Gabe nudges him with his hip, and when Tyson looks up, Gabe’s smiling down at him, that smile he gets in the quiet moment—when the boys are all there, when his parents call. It shouldn’t be allowed; how is Tyson supposed to handle that turned on him? “Because he spends all his budget on ice cream,” Gabe substitutes. Tyson is definitely bright red. Gabe is a damn good actor, wow. “So the next time he started bitching I kissed him instead of letting him complain anymore.”

Tyson swallows. Gabe’s still watching him, his eyes so very blue and his lips pink under his beard. Tyson would be lying if he’d never thought about what that beard would feel like against his skin. “And the rest is history,” Tyson finishes, his voice more high pitched than it should be.

“That’s—not very romantic,” Josty puts it, more thoughtful than anything. Tyson turns to glare at Josty.

“It’s very romantic!” Gabe protests, and Tyson nods. It might be a fake relationship but it’s _his_ fake relationship.

“I mean, there wasn’t a lot of wooing.”

“There was plenty of wooing.” Gabe’s hand has settled on the nape of Tyson’s neck now, warm and heavy. “Just—after I kissed him.”

“And anyway, he was in law school and I was an assistant teacher, we didn’t have the money for expensive things,” Tyson points out. It puts a date on it, more or less, but a realistic one. “I was investing for when he got his big firm job and could really start spoiling me.”  

“He just wants me for my money,” Gabe agrees, mock-mournful, and Tyson’s going to argue but then his phone buzzes.

_I thought my answer was a given_

_And tell Gabe that I didn’t see him getting a broposal_

Tyson snorts and lifts his phone so Gabe can read it. Gabe chuckles too, and the hand on Tyson tightens, just a bit.

“Anyway, Gabe—cookie?” Tyson gestures to the plate on the table. “Or there’s leftovers, or I got us a fifty pack of dumplings from Chinatown, you could boil some of those.”

“I’ll heat something up,” Gabe says, but he takes a cookie. “How’s the game been?”

“Fine. Avs are down.”

“When aren’t they?” Gabe asks, sighing, and gets up. “Josty, want anything?”

“Tyson already fed me.”

“Did you give him the Vietnamese?” Gabe demands, stopping to glare at Tyson. “I was saving that.”

“He ate it all,” Tyson tells him. “I made sure of it.”

“Tys!”

“You need to branch out. I’m forcing you out of your comfort zone.”

“I know what I like.”

“I had Greek,” Josty puts in, and Tyson throws his hands up, exasperated, as Gabe crows.

“Traitor,” Tyson tells Josty. “Where’s the Tyson loyalty?”

Josty shrugs, but he’s smiling and looks relaxed again. Tyson feels a little bad—they’re not exactly the example of a functional gay relationship it seems like he’s using them as—but they’re at least making a decent stab at pretending to be one, and if it makes him feel better than that’s good, even if it’s not real.

“The souvlaki was good?” he offers.

“Okay, fine. Wait a sec.” Tyson pulls out his phone. “Grab your plate, smile.”

“What’s this for?” Josty asks, but he does, and lets Tyson take a picture.

“I run a restaurant reviewing blog.”

“And he uses his more attractive friends as a draw,” Gabe puts in, wandering back towards them, the microwave whirring in the background. “People really read it to see my face.”

“Basically,” Tyson agrees. “I just use first names, though, and nothing identifying. Okay if I post a pic of you? I can call you Josty or Tyson or whatever.”

“Tyson might be confusing,” Gabe puts in.

“No kidding, Gabriel.” Tyson rolls his eyes. “I would phrase it so it wouldn’t be.”

“Yeah, that’s fine, I guess.”

“Awesome.” Tyson grabs his computer, and opens it—and there’s the email. He switches windows fast, to add the pic. _Tyson the Younger enjoying mooching leftovers!_

“Is it mooching if you offered?” Tyson nearly jumps; he hadn’t realized Gabe was leaning over his shoulder, close enough that his voice was right in Tyson’s ear. Gabe chuckles, low and amused, and Tyson’s mind does not go anywhere dirty.

“Stop backseat blogging, Landesnerd,” he snaps. “I’m the one they want.”

“I thought they wanted both of us.”

“Don’t get a bigger head. People ship me and Mikko.” Gabe makes a face. “Yeah, exactly. You aren’t special.”

Gabe’s hand is on Tyson’s shoulder again. “Words hurt, Tys,” he warns. Tyson rolls his eyes at Josty.

“He says, like he’s not mean to me all the time.”

Gabe straightens. “You like it,” he says, definitely purring this time, and Tyson huffs out an irritated breath as Josty manages to both laugh, yelp, and go red.

“You’re the worst!” he yells after Gabe, as Gabe heads back towards the kitchen, and just gets laughter in response.

///

“It’s been thirty-three minutes,” Tyson announces to the air. He turns back from the timer app on his phone to Instagram, because there’s nothing else to do. Like there hasn’t been, for the past twenty minutes. Which is the time that normal people took to get ready.

“It has not!” Gabe calls back from the bathroom. Where he’s been. For thirty-three minutes. “You haven’t been timing me.”

“Want to bet? You went in there at 9:02.”

“I did not.”

“Can you prove that?” Tyson demands.

“Can you?”

“Yes, because I texted Nate that we’d be there in an hour then, because I thought you would be a normal person.”

“What would you know about normal?”

“That it doesn’t take thirty-three—thirty four!—minutes to do your hair!” Tyson crosses his legs where he’s leaning on the arm of the couch, then uncrosses them. “Seriously, you look great, just hurry up. We’re going to be late.”

“We’re not going to be late,” Gabe says. “And you can’t even see me.”

“You look great when you’ve just rolled out of bed, I don’t have to see you to know you look great now.”

Gabe sticks his head out of the bathroom. He does, as Tyson predicted, look great, because of course he does. “Was that a compliment?”

“Don’t get used to it,” Tyson mutters. Gabe grins, clearly smug. “Now are you done yet?”

“I can be.” Gabe wanders out of the bathroom. Not only is his hair and beard on point, but he’s of course also shirtless, because apparently shirts evaporate at the sight of Gabe’s chest. Tyson doesn’t blame them. It’s hard not to stare, especially as Gabe walks closer, maybe more of a saunter than anything else. “We still have plenty of time, anyway. It’s only like fifteen minutes away.”

“Half an hour if we’re lucky, it’s Saturday and the 2’s not running.”

“Really?” Gabe groans. “Fine. Still. We’ll be on time.”

“Not if you take forever,” Tyson retorts. “Then we’ll just be here forever, and when someone asks why I’ve starved to death, they’ll discover it’s because you kept me here.”

“Is there even food at this bar?”

“No,” Tyson admits, and makes a face as Gabe laughs. “But the point stands! I could be at the bar right now, instead of watching you try to make your pretty face even prettier.” Gabe’s still moving closer, and Tyson’s head tips back and back, until Gabe’s a few centimeters from being in between his legs. If Tyson leaned forward just a little, he could lick Gabe’s pecs. Maybe his nipple. He’s all—big and muscley and tan and gold and smiling down at Tyson, and Tyson swallows. “It’s—what?” Tyson demands. He feels like he should be intimidated, but it’s just Gabe.

Gabe shakes his head. “Nothing.” He’s still smiling down at Tyson, something soft in it. Those soft smiles will kill Tyson one day soon. “You dressed up. You planning something special?”

Tyson is, but that’s a different story. He looks down at himself—he’s just in jeans and a v-neck that’s actually on the older side, but fine, maybe watching Gabe primp made him want to dress up a little too. Whatever. “I can’t want to look nice for my friends?”

“I think that ship sailed a long time ago,” Gabe replies. His eyes are like, illegally blue this close.

“Hey, the bar catching on fire was totally not my fault, I was nowhere near that candle, Nate’ll back me up!” Tyson protests.

“Nate would back you up even if you were lying. I’m going to need independent corroboration.”

“ _Fine_ , Mr. Landeskog, Esquire,” Tyson drawls. “EJ’ll back me up too, and I haven’t even been to the racetrack with him for months so I haven’t bribed him. Happy now?” Tyson crosses his arms over his chest.

“I suppose.” Gabe’s chest is somehow still flushed pink, and Tyson would really like him to put a shirt on, now. Or stop looking at Tyson, because he can feel himself getting redder just by like, comparison. Or to maybe take a step away, because Tyson can smell his cologne from here and it smells really nice, something spicy. Tyson tips his head back defiantly. He is definitely 100% just looking at Gabe’s face. Gabe’s eyes jerk up, almost guilty, to meet his. “EJ might still lie for you.”

“Not if he could make fun of me instead,” Tyson points out mournfully. “He gives me almost as much as shit as you do.”

Gabe’s face twists, like he’s trying to figure out how to take that.  Tyson laughs. “Don’t worry,” he says, patting Gabe’s arm. “You’re still the best at giving me shit.”

Gabe’s apparently decided to take that as a compliment. “Good,” he says, all that magnetic confidence that’s always drawn Tyson inexorably towards him. He’s still so close. He doesn’t need to be this close. They’re just bantering, like they always do. They’re just—

Tyson’s phone buzzes, and he nearly jumps as he picks it up off his lap. “See, Nate’s already bugging me about whether he’ll be the first one there,” Tyson says, and when he looks back up, Gabe’s out of temptation zone, as much as he can be.

“He’s coming from all the way uptown, even if we both leave now we’ll make it there first.”

Tyson raises his eyebrows as he eyes Gabe’s bare chest very pointedly. “And we’re ready to leave now?” he asks. Gabe shrugs. “Anyway, we have a stop to make first.”

“A stop?” Gabe asks, but he does head toward the bedroom. Tyson gets up off the couch to follow him, to lean against the doorframe as Gabe turns towards the closet. God, his back is as attractive as his front, especially in those ridiculously tight jeans. “Where?”

“Upstairs. Josty’s coming out with us.”

“He is?”

“Yes.”

“Tyson.”

“Well, he doesn’t know it yet,” Tyson allows.

“You can’t just kidnap a kid,” Gabe points out, like Tyson might not be aware of that. He picks up a button down to pull on, which means Tyson can no longer see his bare back. Probably good for his sanity.

“I’m not kidnapping him. He doesn’t have to come. But I think it’ll be good for him, to have a group of friends who he knows won’t be weird about—” Not Tyson’s to tell—“Who’ll just be chill. He’s stressed and he needs to blow off some steam, just like Nate does.”

“Is that why we’re going out tonight?” Gabe asks, turning around. His fingers are on the buttons of his shirt, from the bottom up in some sort of stupidly attractive reverse striptease. But he’s looking at Tyson.

Tyson shrugs. “Yeah? I mean, we hadn’t done anything in a week, but—I thought they could use the break.”

Gabe’s lips curve up, and Tyson looks away, down at his feet. “And I was bored, you know? I need to drink.”

“Sure.” Gabe leans down to grab his shoes, slip them on. “Okay, are you coming?”

“Am I coming? I’m not the one who delayed us!”

Gabe ignores him, leading the way through the apartment towards the door. “Do you have your wallet?”

Tyson groans and scowls at his back. “Yes, mom, of course I have my—oh, wait,” he says, and goes to grab his wallet off the couch. Gabe’s laughing at him as he comes back.

“Shut up, I was ready to go forty-five minutes ago,” Tyson informs him, punching him in the arm on his way past him.

“But I didn’t almost forget my wallet. Do you have your keys, too? Your phone? Do I need to put everything on a lanyard?”

“Do you have a spare lanyard?” Tyson retorts, turning the wrong way to go upstairs. It feels oddly transgressive, going up to the third floor. A bit of a thrill, even if it’s exactly the same hallway. “Wow, Landesnerd. Do you collect them?”

“I don’t need a lanyard to keep my shit together,” Gabe shoots back, but he’s that little bit flushed that makes Tyson think at one point he definitely had more than one lanyard. Tyson is definitely going diving in his shit soon to find it.

“Awww,” Tyson coos. “Did you braid them together?”

“It was required,” Gabe mutters, and Tyson laughs as he’s knocking on the door. “Anyway,” Gabe goes on, drawing himself up like he does when he wants to be impressive. “Do you have your keys?”

“Obviously,” Tyson retorts, but he checks his pocket to be sure. Gabe snorts. “What, are you planning to send me home alone?” he asks. Once he says it, though, it’s a fair question. Neither of them has picked up since they started this—or not that Tyson’s seen—but Gabe did spend a lot of time on his hair today, and he is, well, Gabe. Tyson assumes that Gabe could pick up whoever he wants, whenever he wants. Maybe he’d rather upgrade who’s in his bed.

Gabe gives him a look that’s half confused, half condescending, which is the sort of look Tyson’s used to. “Brutes, if Josty’s coming—”

The door swings open, and Gabe stops talking as Josty’s fully confused face is revealed. “Tyson?” he asks. Then, “Gabe?”

“Yep!” Tyson grins, “We’re kidnapping you.”

“I thought you said this wasn’t a kidnapping.”

“Shut up, Gabriel,” Tyson elbows him in the side. Josty’s still wide-eyed. “We’re going out with a bunch of our friends tonight. You should too.”

“What? I—”

“Can we come inside?” Gabe asks, dripping patience.

“Oh, yeah.” Josty takes a step back so they can come in. It’s a similar apartment to theirs, maybe a little bigger, and redone less recently. It’s also clearly a college kid’s apartment; the only used part of the kitchen is the microwave, the furniture is a mismatch of IKEA and stuff Tyson would bet Josty picked up off the street, the decorations are a few hockey posters, a Van Gogh, and some beer bottles. It looks like Tyson’s first apartment, if probably neater, Tyson thinks fondly. That was a good apartment. A shithole, of course, but it had been _his_ for the first time—if he moved from it, it would be his choice. He could stay there forever, if he wanted.

He didn’t want to, of course; it was a shithole way up in Harlem and the landlord had hiked the rent out of Tyson’s price range, but still.

“So, come on.” Tyson claps his hand. “We’re going to be late. I’d have been here sooner, but someone—” Tyson jerks his head at Gabe from where he’d followed Tyson in, sticking close behind him. “Was staring at the mirror too long.”

Gabe rolls his eyes. “Well someone,” he retorts, nudging at Tyson’s side, “Didn’t tell me we had a stop to make.”

“That’s irrelevant.” Tyson waves his hand. “I’m just worried about you, Landy. Can’t have your big head getting any bigger.”

“Um,” Josty breaks in, tentative but loud enough to be heard. “Did we arrange this?”

“No,” Gabe answers for Tyson, on a sigh. “I believe Tyson wanted to surprise you.”

“I mean, I have midterms.”

“You have midterms all semester, you can spare a night,” Tyson informs him. “I’m a teacher, I know. And…” he trails off, glances at Gabe. Josty tenses. “The guys are really cool,” Tyson tells him gently, catching his eye to try to convey what he means by intense looks alone. “I think you could be comfortable with them. I always have been.”

Josty’s going a little red. Tyson can feel Gabe’s gaze heavy on him. “And Gabe always has been too, right?” Tyson demands. Gabe’ll back his play.

“Of course,” Gabe answers without hesitation.

“So come out with us. Have a few drinks. Have fun.” Tyson does a little shimmy that he knows looks ridiculous, but because he meant it to and because of the choked sound Gabe makes. “It’ll destress you by about a thousand percent.”

“Well—”

“It is good to be with friends,” Gabe agrees, and Tyson doesn’t have to look behind him to know Gabe’s doing his earnest captain look, all understanding and earnest and with a weight to his words that Tyson just can’t replicate. “Come out. We won’t keep you long, and then you can start studying again in the morning. I know all the guys would love to meet you.”

“Um.” Josty swallows. Tyson doesn’t blame him; Gabe’s a lot to handle.

“I mean, or you could be lame and not hang out with friends who’ll buy you drinks,” Tyson adds, and it gets a laugh out of Josty.

“I guess I could take some time off,” he admits.

“Yeah!” Tyson cheers. “Okay, go get changed, unless you want to wear that, I’m not judging. Gabe might be, but that’s ‘cause he’s so vain he doesn’t understand when other people aren’t.”

“At least my shirt fits,” Gabe retorts. Tyson looks down at himself. His shirt seems fine.

“Well, at least I can go upstairs without my pants splitting,” he shoots back, then turns to Josty before Gabe says any more slander about his shirt. “Okay. Go. We’ll wait. Even if you take forty-five minutes.”

“It won’t take that long,” Josty assures him, still looking confused, but he disappears into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Gabe holds his hand out for a fist bump, when the door is closed. “Good teamwork.”

“Yeah, because I did all the work,” Tyson tells him, but he does the fist bump once he puts his phone away from the quick text he had to send. Gabe’s such a nerd. “But—thanks. I thought ambushing him would work better, but you tipped him over the edge.”

“Is everything okay with him?”

“Yeah, he’s just dealing with some shit.” Gabe raises his eyebrows, and that demanding look comes over his face. “Nope. If he wants to tell you, he will.”

“Maybe he thought you’d tell me anyway. As my boyfriend.”

“No,” Tyson repeats, and meets Gabe’s eyes to shake his head. “Don’t, Gabe.”

Gabe lets out a breath. “Fine.” His hand is on Tyson’s arm then, and his voice is soft as he goes on. “But if it’s anything I can help with, you’ll let me know?”

Tyson manages to snort instead of swoon. Whatever, so Gabe’s every knight in shining armor stereotype come to life. Tyson’s been dealing for almost ten years now. “Yes. Of course.”

“Tyson.”

“I will,” Tyson promises. “But he’s okay for now. I just think hanging out with some of the kids will do him good.”

“You know Nate’s as young as them.”

“But he’s Nate,” Tyson says, with what he thinks is incontrovertible logic.

Gabe apparently agrees, because he just smiles at Tyson. Then his smile fades. “I was going to say—if Josty’s going to be there, we’re going to have to pretend.”

“Oh, yeah, fuck. Did you really want to pick up tonight? We can figure that out.” Tyson’s already thinking. “I could like, distract him? If you see someone you like, you could give me a signal, and then I’ll get people to maybe move bars with him? Or—”

“No, no, I didn’t—I just meant—” That smile’s faded again. Tyson’s trying not to gloat that Gabe’s finally stuttering like he does every day of his life. “The other guys need to know. And you need to not flirt with everyone at the bar.”

“I’ve already warned them, check your phone. And Nate’s going to say it too. And,” Tyson adds, as Gabe digs his phone out of his frankly obscenely tight jeans to look at his phone, “I don’t flirt with everyone. You flirt with everyone.”

“I do not!”

“You flirt just by looking like you do,” Tyson informs him. Gabe somehow manages to look both smug and exasperated at the same time.

“Have you seen yourself talk to _anyone_ , Tyson?”

“No, actually, I haven’t.”

“You know what I meant.”

“Did I?”

“Well—” They can go on like this for hours, and they both know it, but luckily both their phones buzz. Gabe sighs as he sees the row of emojis Kerfy’s sent. “We’re going to get so chirped for this.”

“See, this is the good part about being me.” Tyson grins as he pats Gabe’s shoulder consolingly. “This is nowhere near the most chirpable thing I’ve done this month.”

 ///

The trains do go their way, more or less, so they actually aren’t very late to the bar—they aren’t the latest, and Willy doesn’t have an excuse because he even lives in Brooklyn.

It’s one of Tyson’s favorite bars, even if it is in Park Slope and so farther away than he’d like now that he lives in Manhattan—one of the Brooklyny places that’s big enough for a bunch of ex-hockey players to sprawl, with a jungle theme that is entirely kitschy in the best way. And they sell margaritas in double-size glasses, which is just efficient.

Gabe sighs as he walks in, like he always does, because he has no sense of fun and prefers his Nordic minimalism. Josty’s eyes go wide and he laughs, because apparently he also has no sense of fun.

“The beers are cheap,” Gabe tells Josty, like in consolation.

“Excuse you, this place is awesome.” It’s not hard to spot their group despite how it’s getting crowded; they’re loud and large. “Come on.”

Between the three of them, they manage to push their way through the crowd. “Hey, party’s here!” Mikko toasts them. He’s always the sort of bright-eyed he gets after a few beers.

“Hell right it is!” Tyson cheers. He picks up the double-sized margarita sitting on the table next to Nate, because his best friend is the best.

Gabe pouts. “No drink for me?” he demands.

Nate shrugs. “I knew Tyson would whine if he didn’t have one waiting.”

“Like Gabe doesn’t whine just as much,” EJ inserts, which gets hums all around and a ‘Hey!” from Gabe.

“Give it up, you’re just jealous Nate loves me more,” Tyson informs Gabe, holding his massive cup close to his chest. “Anyway. Guys! Announcement.” No one other than Nate pays any attention to him—EJ, Sven, and Kerfy seems to be debating Tyson and Gabe’s whining ratio, Mikko’s listing a little, Bernie and Comphy haven’t paid any attention to them and are focused on some of the med school shit that no one else understands. “Come on!”

“Everyone!” Gabe barks, and the table silences, which seems about right.

“I’ve brought a guest,” Tyson announces, pulling Josty forward from where he’s been hovering mostly behind Gabe and looking at all of them pretty apprehensively. “This is the second, slightly less cool but still pretty awesome Tyson. He lives upstairs from us.” He tries to make meaningful eye contact with everyone so they get what that means; most of them look confused but Mikko winks cheerfully back—he definitely didn’t get it—and Nate nods, so he filled everyone in. “Don’t scare him away.”

“If you haven’t done that yet, Brutes—”

Tyson ignores Comphy. “Josty, this is everyone.”

“Um.” Josty raises a hand. “Hi?”

“Hey, man,” Nate says, nodding to him. “Sorry about Tyson kidnapping you.”

“What is it with everyone calling it kidnapping?” Tyson complains, “It was maybe some light bullying.”

“I mean, no rope was used, so I’m not sure it can be a kidnapping,” Josty points out.

Tyson grins. “Well if you wanted it to be more fun…” He hears Gabe choke next to him. “But see? He’s fine,” Tyson tells the table. “Now—he likes hockey, but he’s a fan of the Oilers. Go.”  It gets some outcry, and Gabe pushes gently so that Josty ends up sitting between Yaki and Comphy, arguing about the Oilers. Tyson nods to himself, pleased, then takes the seat next to Nate.

Gabe bitches a little, but then he goes to get a drink, and by the time he comes back Tyson’s already busy arguing with EJ about how wrong he is about the latest Beyonce album. Gabe can’t protest that he hasn’t heard this one, because Tyson actively forced him to listen, so he of course has opinions too, and they’re all wrong because Gabe’s opinions always are on principle.

“Hey!” Nate interrupts, some indeterminate amount of time later. He’s flushed and grinning, a stark contrast to the way he’d been drawn in a few days ago; it’s one of the better sights Tyson’s seen in a while. “Hey, Brutes!” He throws an arm around Tyson’s shoulders, tugging him in. “Wait, we need to toast you!”

Tyson laughs, pretending to fight Nate’s arm. Nate’s inexorable, though, so he fails and ends up pressed against Nate’s side. “Why?” he asks, rolling his eyes at Gabe and EJ, who are grinning at them tolerantly.

“Because you’re fucking killing it!” Nate grabs his glass, roughly enough that he only doesn’t spill because it’s mostly empty. “You and your spot on Biz-Nasty Does New York!  Like fuck, bro! That’s the big leagues!”

“Your what?” Gabe demands, leaning in.

“It’s nothing,” Tyson mutters, but Nate, because he did not learn volume control when he’s drunk, keeps going.

“T-Bear’s going to be on Biz-Nasty!” he informs the table proudly. “He’s gonna be famous! Get in your time with him now, pretty soon he’ll be too cool for us.”

“Aw, you know I’ll always make time for you,” Tyson tells him, patting his cheek.

“Tyson’ll never be too cool for anyone,” Gabe adds, like it’s automatic. But he’s looking at Tyson with his brows furrowed. “Did you really, Tyson?”

“He did!” Nate confirms. “When is it going to be?”

“Um.” Tyson shakes his head, and actually tries to get away from Nate this time. But Nate’s too tipsy to tell the difference, and his arm is like an iron weight over Tyson’s shoulders. “I don’t know yet.”

“Whatever, it’s going to rock!” Nate enthuses, “You’re going to blow them away. It’s the big leagues now for you!”

“Okay, bro.” Tyson finally struggles out from under him. “I’m going to get another drink.”

He escapes and gets to the bar, orders another big drink—it’s fine, it’s been like an hour, he’s tipsy but generally okay—and looks back around. Josty’s playing darts with Kerfy and Comphy, and they’re definitely getting along—they’re all laughing, and JT smacks Josty on the shoulder as he gets close to the bull’s eye. Josty grins at him. Tyson knew he was right about this.

He ends up talking to a woman at the bar, who’s apparently waiting for a friend but she’s amused at Tyson’s face as he accepts the drink. She’d been looking a little awkward and alone, so it’s not Tyson’s fault that he needed to point out that yes, maybe he was unduly pleased by the drink, but also—did she not see it?

“No, but see, it’s a color thing, I think” Tyson tells her, and she’s laughing. “Anything bright automatically gets you drunker.”

“I think that’s the sugar,” she laughs, and Tyson nods.

“Okay, yes, fine, come back at me with logic,” he agrees, making a face. “But I think it’s also psychosomatic, you know? Brighter colors are more fun, drunk is more fun, they should go together.”

“So would you get drunk off a virgin drink?”

“Well, I haven’t had anything virgin in a while,” Tyson replies, then drops his head as she laughs at him. “A virgin drink, I mean. Nothing against virgins in general. Or non-virgins. But—”

A heavy hand lands on the back of his neck, and Tyson doesn’t have to look behind him to know who it is. He’d know by how Gabe’s hand spans the nape of his neck, the scent of him; he’d know by the way her eyes snap behind him and give a quick once over. “Hey, Tys.” Gabe’s voice is low in his ear. Tyson doesn’t shiver or anything. “I’ve been sent to retrieve you.”

“I’m making friends,” Tyson retorts. Gabe’s standing awfully close behind him. Close enough that Tyson’s can feel the heat of his body behind him. That with Gabe’s hand on him he feels a little surrounded. “Not that you would know about that.”

“I’m very sorry about him,” Gabe tells the woman, in his most polite ‘look how handsome and charming I am’ voice. Humph. And he says he doesn’t flirt with everyone. “Has he been bothering you?”

“I don’t bother people.”

“No, it’s fine.” She’s smiling again, but it’s a very different smile—this is a ‘look how cute you are’ smile, not a ‘oh we’re flirting smile’. “It’s been very amusing.”

“He is that.”

“He is right here,” Tyson snaps at Gabe. “And we’ve been having a lovely conversation. Right?”

“Right.”

“See?” Tyson does look over his shoulder now, and—yeah, Gabe is definitely awfully close. Close, and that hand is—if Tyson had to classify it, he’d call it proprietary. Maybe a little possessive. Which is—Tyson can handle that. Gabe’s always been possessive about his friends. “I’m amusing.”

“You’re something,” Gabe agrees, then, pointedly, adds, “ _Babe_.”

Tyson glances over Gabe’s shoulder—right, Josty’s looking at them. Okay. “Right!” That makes a lot more sense. That’s why Gabe’s acting like a jealous boyfriend—because he’s _acting_ as a jealous boyfriend. “Um, I mean. Did you miss me?”

“I appreciated the break,” Gabe replies, his hand tightening just a bit. “Nate was pining.”

“This is why he’s my favorite,” Tyson tells him. Gabe raises his eyebrows.

“Is he?”

“Um,” the woman says. “My friend’s here, so I’m going to—”

“Bye!” Tyson waves to her. “I’m telling you, the double margaritas. And in a bright color.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she agrees, toasting him with her glass of wine. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Gabe tells her, and then she’s sliding off her stool to greet another woman, who hugs her.

“That was pretty impressive,” Tyson tells Gabe, once she’s out of earshot. “Anyone ever told you you’re a good actor?”

“At least I remembered instead of flirting with random women,” Gabe retorts, pouting a little.

“I told you, if you see someone you want to hook up with, we can figure out a way to—”

“Just come back to the table. Do you have your drink?” Gabe doesn’t pause before he’s tugging Tyson away from the bar, and back towards the table. Tyson doesn’t have a lot of choice but to go.

“Yes, I am ready to go back, thank you for asking Gabe, that’s very polite of you,” Tyson tells the air. Gabe ignores him, towing Tyson back to the table. Somehow this time he ends up in the booth between Gabe and Bernie, and Gabe’s arm is still stretched out over his shoulders as they discuss—make fun of—Mikko for the fact that he’s mostly asleep and also that he took his last date bowling.

“I don’t know, actually,” Gabe says. He’s close enough that Tyson can feel Gabe’s chest moving as he talks. “Bowling’s different. It shows you put thought into it.”

“The wrong way,” EJ argues. “It’s lame.”

“It’s retro!” Mikko protests. “And also, we’re going out again, so it worked.”

“It’s innovative,” Gabe agrees. “It’s not boring. It’s cute.”

“It worked, so that’s what matters, right?” Tyson puts in. “But you can’t personalize all your dates. It’s inefficient.”

“Inefficient, wow.”  Yaki drawls. “Brutes, are you mistreating your boyfriend?”

“There’s no romance left,” Gabe agrees. He sways over, nudging at Tyson’s shoulder. “Not that Tyson ever brought much.”

“Whatever. Who needs romance?” Tyson says. “It’s not like I’ve been on actual dates in—a long time.”

“How long is long?”

“Um.” Tyson thinks. He’s hooked up with people lately, but an actual date? His last relationship was a hook up that turned into something. Before that, there was Andi, and the two of them hadn’t dated so much as Tyson had fallen in love all at once and had been infatuated at them until they gave in. “I don’t know?”

“Didn’t you go out with that guy a few months ago?” Gabe asks. “He took you to drinks at that place you really didn’t like?”

“Oh, right, Marty!” Tyson nods. “That bar was bullshit, the drinks were like two sips and it was way overpriced.”

“Good to know Gabe’s keeping track of your dating history.”

“It’s not my fault too many people are into me to keep track,” Tyson retorts, waggling his eyebrows. “But see? It was a whatever date, but we still hooked up twice, so it worked. No romance required.”

“Fine, twice. That’s not a relationship. He wasn’t willing to put in the work for you,” Gabe argues. “Romance shows you’re thinking about them.”

“Maria and I didn’t have any romance, and—”

“Maria and you were fuckbuddies,” Nate interrupts.

“We were not! We were exclusive.”

“You were exclusive fuckbuddies, then.”

“No, we were in a relationship, it just wasn’t—big.”

“Okay, Andi. You were definitely in love with Andi.”

“Yeah.” He had been. Tyson had been stupid over Andi. Until they decided that Tyson apparently wasn’t enough, that even him being in love wasn’t being committed to the relationship enough.

“And there wasn’t romance there either.”

“Sure there was. We took each other out for dinner sometimes.”

“That’s not romance,” Gabe argues.

“Well I’m sorry I don’t like, rent out blimps for the people I date,” Tyson mutters. “I show my appreciation in other ways.”

“So you’re just easy,” EJ puts in.

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Romance shows that they think you’re worth it,” Gabe insists. “If no one’s been romancing you, it means they aren’t really putting in the effort for you.”

“Are you saying I’ve never put in the effort? I think I want to break up.”

“What’s the longest you’ve dated someone?” Gabe retorts, and Tyson winces.

“Landy…” Nate says, a warning.

Gabe takes a breath. “Sorry.”

Tyson shrugs. “You aren’t wrong.” He swallows. Maybe he hasn’t found anyone to settle down with. Maybe he doesn’t tend to date people for more than a few months. He’s happy. It’s fine. No one gets hurt. “But our get together story isn’t exactly romantic.”

“Did you come up with one?” Mikko demands. “Tell! We need to know, if he asks.”

“He asked me out out of pity.”

“You agreed with me that it was romantic!” Gabe protests.

“You kissed me to shut me up.”

“Well there has to be some way to do it,” Gabe replies, his voice a rumble in his chest that Tyson can feel.

“Whatever,” Tyson mutters, and takes another sip.

People move around them—Yaki gets caught up in the darts game that’s become a pool game or maybe some sort of drinking game, Tyson’s unclear on it, but he knows they’re all having fun, and he knows that Nate’s next to him laughing and relaxed without all the things he’d been carrying, and he’s comfortable in the booth with Gabe’s thigh warm against his and Gabe’s fingers have found their way to the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Hey,” Gabe says, low enough that no one else can hear him. “Did you really get an invite from Biz-Nasty?”

“Yeah.” Tyson’s a little too tipsy to say anything else.

“Have you accepted it yet?”

“Um. Well.”

Gabe lets out a breath. “Yeah, I figured. You need to email them back.”

“Right now?” Tyson asks. Gabe chuckles.

“Maybe when you’re sober,” he suggests, and Tyson nods.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” Tyson grins at him, and pats his leg. “You’ve got a lot of good ideas.”

Gabe grins. It’s one of those soft, pleased smiles that are more devastating than Gabe’s biggest smiles, and Tyson doesn’t have any defenses against this. “I do?”

“Of course. You always know what to do. It’s so—I’m so…” Tyson waves his hand. “But you’ve got the ideas.”

“You’re the one who knew we should come out,” Gabe replies. Maybe he’s drunk too, because that’s way more of a compliment than Gabe usually gives Tyson. “Nate and Josty both look happy. I wouldn’t have thought of that. I wouldn’t have known too.”

“Yeah, but that’s easy.” Tyson shrugs. “That’s not like, ideas.”

“Easy for you,” Gabe tells him, and Tyson hums.

“I’m going to say that you think I have good ideas. It’s going on a t-shirt.”

“Sometimes,” Gabe backtracks. “Not always. A few times.”

“Nope, you think my ideas are good!”

“Definitely not all of them,” Gabe argues. “You chose to wear that shirt, for instance.”

“What’s wrong with my shirt!” Tyson demands. “It’s a good shirt!”

“It’s not a shirt that someone with a boyfriend wears.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Gabe!”

“Tyson!”

“Nate!” Tyson whines, and tugs on Nate’s shirt until he looks at him. “Is there something wrong with my shirt?”

Nate surveys him. His eyes are a little cloudy, but not too much. “It’s kind of tight?” he suggests.

“Are you saying that my shirt is too tight?” Tyson demands of Gabe. Gabe glances to the side, sort of red.

“It’s really tight. And low cut.”

“So you’re saying it’s slutty.”

“It’s a hook up shirt. And you have a boyfriend. I mean, tonight, you’re supposed to.”

“People in relationships can wear tight shirts!” Tyson protests. “Maybe I like turning people down. Maybe I wanted to cheat on you. Maybe I wanted to hook up with my boyfriend.”

Gabe’s gaze darts over Tyson’s chest again, over his arms. Tyson crosses his arms, scowls. “What, is that not something that could happen?”

“I—”

“Tyson!” Josty interrupts, popping up with Kerfy and Comphy. “We’re going to go to some other place JT knows.”

Tyson grins and toasts him. “Are you sure you don’t want to go home and study?”

Josty grins back and shakes his head. “I think, I mean—no, I can do it tomorrow.”

“Have fun, then.” Tyson toasts him with his margarita. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Be more careful than that,” Gabe adds, so Tyson elbows him and the boys laugh before gathering their stuff.

Tyson pretends to wipe a tear away. “They grow up so fast.”

“We raised him well,” Gabe agrees, patting Tyson’s shoulder. “It’s time for him to sprout wings and grow.”

“The only thing that could make me prouder is if we see him walk of shaming tomorrow,” Tyson suggests, and Gabe laughs again. Tyson finishes his drink. He needs another.

///

Tyson wakes up feeling mostly like death, but at least he’s in his bed, so he’s taking that as a win. He has a vague memory of pouring Nate into an Uber—he needs to check his phone; Nate and he have a longstanding policy of texting each other if they’re going home alone to check in—and then Gabe pouring him into an Uber and getting in next to him. Gabe had been warm—he’s been warm throughout the night, which Tyson knew because he hadn’t moved more than an arms length away from Gabe for the whole night, even once Josty had left. Tyson had considered pointing that out, but Gabe was always a good pillow and what did it matter, really?

He turns over. Gabe’s side of the bed is empty, which is weird, so he reaches for his phone, and wow, yeah, it is late.

He replies quickly to Nate’s text from last night—a mostly unintelligible selection of letters that Tyson interprets as a got home safe message—then rolls out of bed. Everything hurts. Mainly his head.

He stumbles out of the bedroom—and maybe he’s still dreaming. There’s the smell of bacon in the air. And coffee. And when he turns that way to look, Gabe’s standing in front of the stove, in just sweatpants, holding a spatula as the sun streams in lights up his hair and skin and the muscles of his back. He’s got headphones in, and is shimmying a little bit as he cooks.

Tyson is entirely too hung over to handle that right now. He turns left, and goes to the bathroom. Brushing his teeth makes him feel marginally more human, though that might be the continued scent of bacon wafting into the bathroom.

He stumbles out. Gabe’s still shimmying, and he of course manages to make it only maybe 50/50 ridiculous to hot split, instead of the maybe 99/1 that Tyson would manage. But it also smells like grease and something that might make his stomach not feel like shit, so he sits heavily down on a stool, and Gabe must hear him because he turns, taking the headphones out as he does.

“Hey, you’re alive!” He grins. Tyson is definitely too hung over for that smile and his bare chest.

“Am I?” Tyson asks. It’s not entirely rhetorical.

“I wasn’t sure, given your snoring,” Gabe retorts, but he also pushes a mug of coffee towards Tyson. Tyson takes a sip before he thinks—but it’s just right. God, he loves Gabe. “I love you,” he tells Gabe, because he should know that.

Gabe rolls his eyes and turns back to the stove. “I bet you say that to all the boys who make you coffee.”

“Well, yeah, but you make it way better than Jose at the cart outside school,” Tyson informs him. “Is there bacon?”

“And eggs,” Gabe confirms, and Tyson maybe whimpers a little. Gabe doesn’t make fun of him for it, which shows great mercy on his part and so Tyson doesn’t even comment on the fact that he’s cooking bacon shirtless and just _asking_ to get grease burns.

“Gimme.”

“What’s the magic word?”

“ _Gaaaabe_ ,” Tyson groans, and Gabe chokes before he laughs.

“I’ll take that, I guess,” he agrees, and grabs a plate.

Gabe makes himself a plate too, but he leans against the counter to eat instead of sitting next to Tyson, and when Tyson looks up from shoveling the food in his mouth, he’s more watching Tyson than eating.

“Was I super annoying last night?” Tyson asks. “Thanks for taking me home.”

“I owed you one,” Gabe points out. “And no, you weren’t any more annoying than usual.”

“Okay.” It doesn’t explain why Gabe’s looking at him like that, like there’s a question in it. “Why are you looking at me weird?”

“When are you going to email the Biz-Nasty people back?”

“I’m going to!” Tyson protests. Gabe sets down his plate, goes to the living room—Tyson shovels in a few more bites of bacon—then comes back and puts Tyson’s computer on the counter next to him.

“Send the email now.”

“You’re not the boss of me.”

“Tyson.”

“Shouldn’t I wait until I’m less hung over? You told me not to do it drunk.”

“I’ll spell check.”

“You’re the worst.”

“I thought you loved me.”

“That was fifteen minutes ago, catch up.” Tyson opens his gmail, flips it to his blog account. The Biz-Nasty email is still sitting there in his starred folder, staring at him.

“The first step is putting your fingers on the keys,” Gabe says, from close enough behind Tyson that he jumps. “No, wait, the first step is wiping off your hands, did you use a fork?”

“You can’t use a fork for bacon, what are you?” Tyson asks, but he takes the napkin Gabe hands him.

“Civilized?”

“If you’re waiting that long for bacon you’re doing something wrong,” Tyson informs him, and throws the napkin towards the garbage can. It goes in, so Gabe high fives him before he opens a reply email.

Gabe apparently feels the need to supervise Tyson’s email writing, though the first time he starts to backseat edit Tyson threatens to pour coffee on him so he stops.

“There,” Tyson says defiantly, once he’s hit send. “Happy?”

“Yeah.” Gabe smiles at him, more proud than he should be of writing an email.

“Have we heard from Josty?” Tyson asks, looking back down at his breakfast. “Nate told me he got home. Well. Sort of.”

Gabe’s gotten enough of Nate’s drunk texts to understand. “No. But JT texted me this morning already, so I think he’s okay.” He pauses, then adds, “It looked like they were really getting along.”

“I know, right?” Tyson pats himself on the back. “What was it you said last night? I have the best ideas?”

“I think you told me that.”

“No, you definitely told me that.”

“You were drunk, you can’t remember.”

“That is seared into my memory.” Tyson waves an invisible marquee with his hands. “Gabriel Landeskog said I had great ideas. I can die happy now.”

“Let’s not go that far. What about that time, with the noodles—”

“We don’t have to talk about the noodles,” Tyson interrupts. They never need to talk about the noodles.


	4. Chapter 4

“Okay, remember everyone, what do we need to do for tomorrow?”  Tyson asks, and gets a chorus of,

“Permission slips!” back, which he gives a resounding round of applause.

“Awesome. And what do we do if our parents forget?”

“Tell them they’re irresponsible!” his kids echo, and Tyson claps again.

“Great. I’ll see you all tomorrow,” he tells them, and heads to the cubbies to help everyone get dressed for the busses.

It’s mainly a lot of buttoning coats and tying boots, with a little bit of nodding at one of the kid’s chattering about plans for the afternoon. Tyson tugs and fixes and high fives, and then somehow the bus kids are in a line being escorted down the hall, and Tyson takes the pick ups down to the front hall.

He nods to Katie, who’s got her own kids, and starts to pair them off—a few of the parents and nannies have things to say to him, and he reminds all of them about the permission slips too.

It’s winding down when he nods to Katie, mouths, ‘watch them?’ as he gestures to his remaining few kids, and when she nods back, he heads over to where Melissa’s standing, a little alone even though her twin is somewhere in the sea of children.

“Hey, Melissa.” He holds out his hand for a high five, and gets a soft one in return, though no smile. He hasn’t gotten many smiles recently. “How are you doing?”

“Good,” she mumbles.

“Yeah? Everything’s all right?”

“Yeah.” She’s staring at her purple boots, a stubborn expression on her face.

“Really? Because I haven’t heard a joke in forever, and I miss them.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s nothing to be sorry about. But if something’s wrong and I can fix it, I want to help.” Tyson kneels down so he’s on the same level. “If you want to talk to me, you always can.”

She bites at her lip. “Will you tell my mom?”

“Not if you don’t want me,” Tyson tells her. He’s mostly telling the truth.

“Daddy’s not living at home anymore,” she says, still looking at her shoes.

“Do you miss him?” A shrug. “Have you talked to him?” Another shrug. Tyson takes in her tight shoulders, the way her lips are pressed together. “Do you want to?”

She looks up, her eyes wide. Tyson guesses no one’s asked her that yet. “He’s my dad,” she says, not like an answer but like she’s feeling Tyson out.

“I don’t always like my dad,” Tyson tells her. “He made me move around a lot when I was your age, and I got mad about that. And sometimes we disagree and I think he’s really wrong.”

“I don’t like him now,” she says, and her dark eyes are flashing. “He makes mommy cry. And sometimes he yells and it’s scary.”

Tyson nods. “That sounds like a reason to be mad,” he tells her, as diplomatically as he can. He knows it’s not his job to get involved with this, but if Mr. Simon is actually scaring his daughters, then Tyson’s not going to tell her to forgive that.

“Everyone thinks I should miss him,” she says, still fierce. “But I don’t.”

“You should feel how you feel,” Tyson tells her, “I—”

“Simon!” yells the monitor, and Melissa looks up, to where her mother is standing next to the sign out desk. All the other kids are gone now, other than Cat, who’s been chattering at Katie and now bounces over to her mother.

“You won’t tell her?” Melissa demands, suddenly worried. “She says I shouldn’t be mad at daddy too.”

“I won’t tell her,” Tyson promises, and straightens back up, ignoring the creak in his knees. He holds out his hand, and Melissa takes it. She’s still not smiling, but at least he has something to work with.

“Sorry I’m late,” Mrs. Simon tells him, as she finishes signing her daughters out. She’s the sort of woman who’s probably been called sweet more than pretty, with dark hair and eyes and skin a shade or two darker than her daughters’. The circles under her eyes are hidden by better makeup than Tyson can imagine.

“Not a problem. I’m—am I sorry to hear about the divorce?”

She laughs mirthlessly. “I’m not sure, honestly. It’s still fresh.” She glances down, to where Melissa and Elena are comparing notes about something. “Does everyone know?”

“Gossip moves fast,” Tyson tells her, apologetic. “Especially when a hot mom is single again.”

That gets her to laugh, a hand coming up to her mouth like she’s surprised by it. Tyson probably shouldn’t have said that, but whatever, she liked it. “You’re sweet,” she tells him, shaking her head. “Is Melissa handling it okay?”

“She’s been quieter than usual.” Tyson pauses, glances at the girls, but they’re distracted. “She mentioned that Mr. Simon had moved out.”

“Yeah. I couldn’t—we needed space.” She reaches up to touch her hair, like she’s checking it’s still there. “Well, I needed space.”

“As you should.”

“Right?” She nods. “But the girls will see him soon, I guess. The lawyers say he has to, at least. We’re still figuring out custody.” She makes a face like ‘figuring out’ was a euphemism.

“Well, let me know if I can do anything,” Tyson tells her, and she smiles again, tired.

“Just—thank you for letting me vent,” she replies. “And I’m sorry for being late.”

“Yeah, you’re really cramping my glamorous lifestyle,” Tyson agrees. “I’d much rather be grading papers than talking to you.”

She laughs again. “Say bye to Mr. Barrie,” she prompts the girls, who both look up and chorus their goodbyes before going back to their conversation. Mrs. Simon—Ms. Martinez, Tyson guesses—waves as she herds them away.

Tyson watches them go, sensing Katie coming up behind him instead of looking at her. “Confirmed?”

“Confirmed,” Tyson says. “Seems pretty nasty. Elena okay?”

“She’s her usual self. I think she’s louder, actually. Melissa?”

Tyson shakes his head. “She’s on her mom’s side.”

“I don’t blame her. He’s a piece of work.”

Tyson nods emphatically, then shakes his head. “What are you up to this afternoon?”

“Grading, then Jamie’s beer league game. Want to come?”

“Bennie need a bigger cheering section?”

“I can cheerlead for my boyfriend on my own,” Katie retorts. “But I know he’d appreciate it. He was just saying he hadn’t seen you in forever.”

“I can’t, I’ve got a thing.”

“A thing?”

Tyson shrugs as they head back to their classrooms. He’s basically gotten over how weird it always is to be in school when none of the kids are there; but it always feels so much bigger. “I’m recording a podcast.”

“Really? That’s awesome! Which one?”

“Um.” Tyson rubs at his neck. “Biz-Nasty Does New York?”

“Seriously!” It’s loud enough that the janitor walking past them raises his eyebrows. Tyson waves cheerfully at him. “I love that podcast. How did you get on that?”

“I don’t know, honestly. He just emailed me.”

“Because of your blog? Do you know what you’ll be talking about? Can you hook me up to a liveshow, I’ve been trying to get tickets for forever, that would be the best birthday present, Jamie loves him too.”

“I would guess so, no, and I have no idea but I’ll try.” Tyson shrugs again. He’s been trying not to think about it, really. It’s all a lot. “They’ll probably edit me out anyway.”

“Yeah, sure, Mr. Bigshot,” Katie retorts, pulling her phone out of her pocket. “Have you told Jamie yet? He’s going to freak.”

“I haven’t told anyone, so no.”

Katie types out a text, and Tyson’s phone buzzes—it’s a groupchat with her and Jamie, and a message of _guess who’s meeting Paul Bisonnette and didn’t tell us????_

_Wtf?_ comes Jamie’s text back immediately. _Tyson!_

_It’s not a thing_ , Tyson replies, and makes a face at Katie. “Now he’s never going to shut up about it.” For a certain level of never shutting up. Jamie’s the quiet one in both of their relationships with him.

“Exactly.” Katie’s smile is all mischief. “Next time, you’ll get us invites too or you’ll face Jamie’s disappointed face forever.”

“That’s unfair!” Tyson protests. Jamie’s disappointed face is lethal. Tyson’s seem him wearing spandex and covered in glitter at a mutual friend’s bachelor party, and he’s still vulnerable to the look. “I don’t get a plus one or anything. Or a plus two, I guess.”

“That’s because you didn’t try hard enough.” They pause in front of Katie’s door. “When is it?”

“Seven.”

“Going home before that?”

“Nah, just going to work here. He records uptown, I don’t want to go back.”

“Cool. Want company?”

Tyson grins. “When don’t I?”

“Great, I’ll grab my stuff and come to your room.” She’s already turning away when she adds, “We can listen to some podcasts while we work. Get you prepped.”

“Katie!” Tyson whines, but she’s laughing as she goes.

Tyson basically loses track of time as he works, though he takes some of the time to stop grading and lesson planning and pick up his blog. Ever since he announced his spot on Biz-Nasty, he’s been getting a lot of messages, and he needs to finish his post comparing some of the Mexican-Japanese fusion places that are popping up all over.

It means he nearly jumps when the intercom flips on. “You’ve got a visitor, Tyson” Stephanie from the front office says.

Katie looks up, raises her eyebrows. Tyson gives her a confused face back, then looks at his phone. It’s 5:45 already. He should leave soon, if he wants to eat and get uptown by seven.

“Um. Who?” he asks.

“He says it’s your boyfriend?” she replies, sounding tentative. Katie’s eyebrows go _way_ up. “You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend,” Stephanie continues, sounding accusatory. “We talked this morning.”

“I didn’t know either,” Tyson tells Katie, Stephanie, and the asshole on the other side of the intercom, just in case he can hear. “I’ll be right there.”

“He’s quite handsome,” Stephanie continues, her voice pitched high enough that Gabe can definitely hear her. “If he’s not your boyfriend, he should be.”

“Right down!” Tyson repeats, and gets up.

“You have a boyfriend?” Katie demands. “A handsome boyfriend? Why didn’t I know this?”

“Because I don’t,” Tyson retorts, and hurries out of the room before more rumors can spread about him.

He can tell it’s too late by the time the front office comes into view. Gabe is perched against the desk, and Tyson knows that lean; he’s seen Gabe turn on the charm before, and he’s in full ‘look at me I’m so attractive and charming and successful and my suits fit so well and my hair is amazing’ mode. As Tyson walks up, he can hear Stephanie giggle like she’s sixteen instead of sixty.

“Tyson!” she calls, actually blushing. Tyson manages not to roll his eyes. “You never told me you had such a handsome boyfriend.”

“Maybe I didn’t want to share,” Tyson tells her, and gives Gabe his best death glare. Gabe’s grinning at him, his pleased as punch grin he gets when he’s pulled something off. “Maybe I didn’t expect him to stop by work.”

“I’ve come to escort you,” Gabe tells him cheerfully.

“Escort me where?”

“To the podcast recording.” Gabe leans over, bumps his shoulder against Tyson’s, like this statement makes sense.

“My sense of direction isn’t that bad!” Tyson protests. You get lost once in a foreign country, you never hear the end of it. Anyway, the people who had gotten him back to the group had been really cool, and they’d all ended up getting drinks—and Tyson had also hooked up with one, because Ilana was hot—so he counts it as a win. He still emails them sometimes. “I can get uptown.” As he says it, it occurs to him—“Did you come all the way down here to go all the way uptown with me?”

“I wanted to make sure you felt supported,” Gabe tells Tyson, wide-eyed and total bullshit. Stephanie makes a cooing sound. Gabe’s eyes are twinkling, the fucker.

“I feel as supported as a underwire bra, what are you really doing here?” Tyson demands, as Gabe snorts and Stephanie makes another one of her half-amused, half-disapproving noises.

“Is that any way to talk to your boyfriend when he’s trying to help?” Stephanie tsks, in the same tone she’d use to chide one of the kids for being mean. But her lips are twitching like she’s amused.

“Yeah,” Gabe echoes, and one of his arms snakes out to wrap around Tyson’s waist. “Is that any way to talk to your boyfriend?”

Tyson tugs against his arms, mainly pro forma. “Yes, because I’m on to you and your blue-eyed wiles.”

Stephanie sighs. “He means well,” she tells Gabe. “He really is a sweetheart. Don’t be discouraged by his teasing.”

“Oh, I’m fluent in Tyson,” Gabe replies, and Tyson looks up to glare at him, and Gabe’s looking down like—with enough affection to make Tyson want to squirm away from it, that it definitely make Tyson flush. “I know what he means.”

“I don’t know what either of you two mean,” Tyson inserts loudly, and does wriggle away from Gabe this time, so Gabe will stop looking at him enough to make him blush. “I need to get my stuff.”

“Well, it was lovely to meet you,” Gabe tells Stephanie, with another Disney prince smile that makes Stephanie smile.

“And to meet you. Tyson, hang onto this one.”

“I don’t think I have much choice,” Tyson mutters, but then he grins at Stephanie. “I’ll see you tomorrow, eh? We still have to talk about Game of Thrones.”

“I’ll be caught up by tomorrow,” she promises, and Tyson waves cheerfully before dragging Gabe away.

He waits until they’re a hallway away before he starts properly glaring at Gabe. “What the hell?”

Gabe’s not pretending he’s not laughing at him, but he shrugs. “I wasn’t sure if you had told anyone.”

“You couldn’t have just left your name?” Gabe shrugs, his eyes fixed over Tyson’s head at some of the drawings on the wall. “Now everyone’s going to think we’re going out here. Stephanie will tell everyone.”

“Is that so humiliating?” Gabe snaps. Tyson rocks back, surprised. That was a real edge of annoyance in Gabe’s voice, not just the usual teasing. “That people might think I’m actually your boyfriend.”

“Nah, it’s just unrealistic, you know that.” Tyson tries to keep his voice easy, watching the stormclouds hovering in Gabe’s face. “And Stephanie’s in love with you already, so I wouldn’t want to make her jealous. She’s dangerous, if she didn’t like me I’d stop getting anything filed. And she’d stop sneaking me the leftover desserts, so really, this is just self preservation.”

Gabe laughs, the clouds receding. “Well, if it’s me or dessert, I’ve always known where your priorities lie.”

“Hey, maybe if you run away with Stephanie, she’ll feel bad and sneak me twice as much!” Tyson perks up.

Gabe’s definitely laughing at him now. “Now you’re just pimping me out.”

“Yeah, well, when you look like you do you have to expect it,” Tyson informs him, as they get to Tyson’s classroom. Gabe’s leaning over Tyson’s shoulder as he opens the door and walks in, his eyes wide. Tyson guesses he hasn’t been here before; Nate came by once to drop of spare keys when Tyson forgot his but there’s never been any reason for Gabe to come by. It feels a little weird to have Gabe here—looking especially tall and oversized in the child sized furnishings, in his suit surrounded with the finger paints and pencils and colorful posters that’s Tyson’s life. He looks like some sort of celebrity come to read to the kids.

And of course, Katie’s there, eying Gabe like she’s the proverbial cat with the cream. “Hi, Gabe,” she says, smiling—Tyson believes in mixing friend groups enough that they’ve met plenty of times before—then turns astounded gaze to Tyson. “ _This_ is your boyfriend?”

“No,” Tyson tells her. “I mean. Sort of. No. It’s complicated.”

“Clearly.” Katie’s phone is out. She is definitely texting Jamie. “So is it like, a fuckbuddies situation?”

“No, we’re just sleeping together.”

Gabe chokes. Katie makes a surprised noise that’s actually sort of insulting. “We’re sharing a bed—it’s complicated!” Tyson protests, as Gabe starts to laugh again, bracing himself against Tyson’s desk as he curls over into himself. “Shut up, Landeskog, you’re not helping.”

“You’re doing so well on your own,” Gabe gets out, wheezing.

Tyson’s phone buzzes at his hip. Sure enough, it’s Jamie— _you’re dating Gabe Landeskog? Since when?_

“Seriously, you already tattled on me?” Tyson asks Katie. She shrugs, and checks her own phone.

“He wants to do a double date,” she informs them, then looks at Gabe. “He’s serious, too. Jamie believes in the shovel talk. It’s cute. You should have seen the talk he gave to Segs’ girlfriend.”

“Yeah, but I can be trusted to make judgements about people.”

“Can you, though?” Gabe asks, and before Tyson can reply, tells Katie. “We’ll figure out a time. I can handle Benn.”

“Can you, though?” Tyson asks, eying Gabe up and down. “Bennie’s got what, a few inches on you? How many pounds?”

 Gabe bristles, because his pride is always so amusingly prickly. “I can take him!” he protests, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I vote we make them fight.” Katie raises her hand. “Shirtless. Please?”

Tyson wrinkles his nose. “Jamie’s like my brother, I don’t think I could handle that. Anyway, I can see Gabe shirtless whenever.”

“Yeah, but I can’t. I think you’re being selfish.”

“Come over whenever and you’ll see him shirtless. I think he’s allergic.”

“Come over?” Katie echoes, her eyes going wide. “Is he always at your place, then?”

Gabe smirks, and throws an arm over Tyson’s shoulder. “We live together, didn’t he tell you?”

“Tyson!”

“Gabe!”

Gabe smirks, clearly pleased with the damage he’s done. “Now come on, Tys. We’ve got to get you fed and uptown.”

“I’d already have left if it weren’t for you coming in and distracting me,” Tyson retorts, going around behind the desk to grab his bag and the papers he hasn’t finished reviewing. He adds a few more papers. “I had a plan.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

“Wait, no, rewind, you two are _living_ together?” Katie’s voice is going worryingly high-pitched. “When did this happen?”

“About a month ago, right?”

“It’s not—stop doing that!” Tyson orders Gabe.

“I’m telling the truth.” Gabe holds his hands out, palms up.

Tyson makes a face, and slings his satchel over his shoulder. “You’re such a lawyer,” he mutters.

“Tyson, either you tell me now or Jamie’s going to feel like you don’t trust him and he’ll make his sad face at you—”

Jamie’s sad face is even worse than his disappointed face, but Tyson really doesn’t have time for this, if he wants to get anything to eat before he records. Maybe he shouldn’t eat anything. He might throw it up. This is real, fuck. He’s going to go record. “I’ll tell you later,” he tells Katie, with his most apologetic look, then to Gabe, “Let’s go, slowpoke.”

“It was lovely to see you, Katie.” Tyson doesn’t have to see Gabe to know how prettily he’s smiling at Katie. “Give Jamie my best.”

Tyson is out the door before he hears the rest of it. He only gets a few doors down the hallway, though, before Gabe’s long legs carry him up next to Tyson. “If you were trying to run away, you didn’t do very well.”

“You know where I’m going, I don’t think it’d work.”

“Since when has that stopped you?”

“Whatever, you have a big head.” It’s a weak comeback, and Tyson knows it, and he’s expecting a comment to that point, but instead Gabe’s quiet as they leave the school and head towards the subway. “I had planned to grab something once I was uptown, but if you’ve decided something else for me…”

“No, that makes sense.”

“Nice of you to say.” Tyson’s fingers close over the strap of the satchel as they walk. “Glad you didn’t decide to take that over too.”

“It has to do with food, so you know what you’re talking about.”

“Hah hah,” Tyson tells him, and dodges a group of tourists coming out of the stop before heading down himself. “Did you eat?”

“Not yet.”

“Do we want Hale and Hearty, or there’s a fast burrito place up there—”

“Let’s see how long the train takes.”

“Yeah, probably a good idea.” They swipe in, and then there’s no more walking—they’re just standing on the platform, for what the sign informs them will be three minutes until the next 1 train comes. Tyson can only distract himself for so long. “So, how was work? You must not have had much, if you could have come down here to bug me. No one committing any crimes today?”

Gabe’s looking at him, and there’s a little crease between his eyebrows. The irritated look he gives Tyson is a little forced. “You know I don’t do criminal law.”

“Fine, no one doing something sketchy so you have to defend them from paying the people they hurt?”

Gabe rolls his eyes. “It’s not always that.”

“Isn’t it? That’s what you said during law school.” The train comes in a rush of wind that doesn’t let them hear anything, then they’re getting on—it’s early enough into rush hour that the car isn’t packed, but there are still no seats open, so Gabe grabs onto rail above the seats and Tyson the one on the side. Gabe, of course, manages to somehow lean over so that he’s looming, just a bit, cutting everyone else off from around them. “You said,” Tyson picks back up, “That big law lawyers were corporate shills who—”

“I was twenty-four!” Gabe objects. “You said a lot of stupid stuff when you were twenty-four too.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’ve never said anything stupid.”

“Uh-huh.” Gabe smirks. “Weren’t you twenty-four when you got catfished?”

Tyson can see the person sitting below Gabe, a girl in her mid-twenties generally concentrated on her phone, twitch with interest. “I didn’t get catfished, she just lied on her profile.”

“I think that is catfishing.”

“She wasn’t trying to entrap me or anything. Not like—remember Tyrone? He would have catfished you, if he’d thought of it.”

Gabe snorts. Clearly, he remembers Tyrone, who’d actually been pretty sweet about how madly in love he’d been with Gabe until he started following him around. Tyson still empathized pretty hard. It wasn’t Tyrone’s fault that Gabe was too handsome for his own good, even if the whole stalker thing wasn’t alright. But he’d stopped after the one time that he’d crashed Gabe, Nate, and Tyson’s movie night and Gabe had finally talked to him about it. “Stevie did try.”

“She did not!” Tyson insists, then stumbles a little as the train takes a curve. “I don’t know why you keep saying that.”

“Because she did,” Gabe repeats. They’ve been forced closer, as more people have gotten on the train; now Gabe barely has to raise his voice to be emphatic. “That profile was definitely her.”

“So she maybe she made a profile under a fake name, there are reasons for that. And it wasn’t her, anyway.”

Gabe shakes his head. “It was her.”

Tyson rolls his eyes. “You just never liked her. I don’t know why. You guys had so much in common.”

“She was mean to you,” Gabe’s face is set in stubborn lines. Tyson rolls his eyes again, even if it’s always been nice, Gabe’s loyal streak.

“Like I said, a lot in common.”

Gabe’s still scowling. “I’m not mean.”

“You just told me I said stupid things!”

“So did you.”

“Just because I’m mean doesn’t mean you aren’t mean too.”

“Are you sure I’m the lawyer here?”

“See, another mean thing.”

“That was a compliment.”

“Not in that tone.”

“Well—” The doors open, and Gabe straightens. “Come on, this is us.”

“Oh shit, yeah.” Tyson manages to extricate himself, then heads up out of the station. He’d sublet a place around here for a few months a few years ago, so he doesn’t really need to pull his phone out to find the burrito place, but he does anyway. It’s nice to have it in his hands. To have something to do with his hands.

They make it to the burrito place, and Gabe decides now is the best time to start on their never-ending argument about what it means to eat healthy and then a new argument about whether dairy really is bad for your voice—which is ridiculous because neither of them can sing to save their lives, but does end with Gabe singing a few lines of ABBA in the restaurant.

Tyson gets all the way to the building where Biz-Nasty records before it hits him, which he thinks is pretty good. But then he’s there, staring up at the brownstone, and it’s—he freezes. It’s so weird. Why is he here? Biz-Nasty clearly made a mistake, or like, is not going to use him at all and he’s—

“Tyson,” Gabe’s hand is on his shoulder, and he turns Tyson so that he’s looking at him—at Gabe’s beautiful, familiar face. “You’re good. Just ring the bell.”

“It’s stupid,” Tyson says, before he can stop himself. “Biz-Nasty’s got a real podcast, I just do some blog, I can’t do this, it’s not—”

“Nope,” Gabe says, at his most sure. His eyes are really disgustingly blue, and Tyson can’t look away. “You can. Of course you can. Don’t do this to yourself again.”

“Do what?”

“Come on, bell.” Gabe turns Tyson again, pushes so Tyson has to either actively fight him or go along with him up the stairs. “You can do this. You’ve been walking for at least a few years.”

“Yeah, fine.” Tyson reaches out—then pauses. “Wait. Did you come because you thought I wouldn’t follow through?”

“Push the buzzer, Tyson,” Gabe tells him, glancing away, which is enough of an answer in itself.

“Seriously? You thought I’d just what, bail?”

“Well, you almost did.”

“I wouldn’t have though, if you weren’t here! I don’t need to be escorted. I can do it on my own.” Tyson glares at Gabe. “What were you planning to do, catch me if I bolted?”

“If necessary.” Gabe smiles, all teeth. “Are you going to run?” 

“Fuck no.” Tyson pushes the buzzer. He doesn’t need Gabe here to tell him what to do. He’s nervous, whatever.

“Hello?” the voice comes from the intercom.

“Hi,” Tyson says, giving Gabe a pointed look. “It’s Tyson Barrie?”

“Oh, Barrie! Awesome. Come on up, we’re on the second floor!”

The door buzzes, and Tyson pushes it open. He strongly considers pulling it closed before Gabe can get in, but Gabe must anticipate that because he’s so close behind Tyson that he’s almost stepping on Tyson’s heels.

Upstairs, they barely get to the door before it’s getting tugged open and they’re ushered inside.

“You must be Tyson! Great to meet you, man.” The man on the other side of the door—Biz Nasty, presumably—grins. He’s a tall man, a few years older than Tyson, with a massive smile and similarly sized ears. He’s also in pretty good shape, which Tyson knows because he’s being pulled into an enthusiastic one-armed bro hug that leaves him squished against Biz Nasty’s shoulder. “Thanks for coming!”

“Thanks for having me!” Tyson grins back, as he’s let go. “Biz Nasty, I presume?”

“You can call me Biz. Or Paul, that’s my name, but Biz is more fun.” His smile invites Tyson to smile back.

“See, that’s what I say about T-Beauty, but it doesn’t help. Some people won’t use it anyway.”

“Well I will. Biz and T-Beauts, I’m looking forward to it. We’re going to rock this.” He throws an easy arm over Tyson’s shoulder, casually physical in a way that would have made it clear he’s been an athlete if his body and affect didn’t make that clear. Then his eyebrows go up, looking over Tyson’s shoulder. “Oh, hi!”

“Hi,” Gabe says, surprisingly cool. “Gabriel Landes—”

“Oh I know who you are,” Biz says, then laughs again. “Only a little bit in a stalker way. But I’ve read T-Beaut’s blog, of course I know Gabe the Babe!” Gabe apparently swallows his tongue as Tyson starts to crack up. “Nice name, by the way. I wish I could have something as good.”

“He chose it,” Tyson manages to get out.

“Are you saying it’s inaccurate?” Gabe asks, getting himself back together. He shakes out his hair, which is a real Disney prince move and he knows it.

“He’s fishing, he knows it is,” Tyson tells Biz.

“Nothing wrong with a man who knows how hot he is,” Biz nods at Gabe. “I didn’t know I was getting a twofer, though. Is he recording?”

“Nah,” Tyson says, before Gabe can start answering. “He’s got a real job.”

“People with real jobs can record podcasts,” Gabe argues, “And you have a real job too.”

“Yeah, but yours actually pays,” Tyson points out, which is hard to argue with. “Too much to do a cute hobby too.”

“That was a year ago, are you ever letting it go?”

“No! My blog is important to me, Gabriel, it hurt when you insulted it!”

“You had just told me that I was boring, that hurt too.” Gabe makes a sad face.

“It’s not my fault you’re a Swedish stereotype,” Tyson retorts.

“So, not recording, then?” Biz asks. “Because I think you guys have a good comedy act here.”

“So we’ve been told,” Tyson agrees.

“No recording,” Gabe confirms, and shifts so he’s closer to Tyson. “Just moral support.”

“Awesome. Let’s get out of the entryway, then. Shoes off or on, I don’t give a fuck.” Tyson and Gabe exchange a look, but neither of them take their shoes off, just their jackets, then follow Biz through the apartment.

“You need anything to drink? Eat?” Biz asks, as they walk past an actually very nice kitchen. He has a blender with so many buttons that Tyson doesn’t realize he’s staring until Gabe elbows him.

“Stop drooling,” he mutters

“I’m not,” Tyson retorts, but he closes his mouth anyway, just to check. “No, we’re good.”

“Good, I was kind of worried about giving you anything. I didn’t want to risk a bad review.” Biz glances over his shoulder at Gabe. “I don’t know how you do it, man. I’d be so stressed all the time. Is he always reviewing?”

 “He can handle it because he has such a big head,” Tyson puts in. He didn’t think that he wrote about him and Gabe living together, but maybe he mentioned it? Or maybe it’s just obvious they spend a lot of time together. “Metaphorically and literally.”

“It is hard to shut him up,” Gabe tells Biz, ignoring Tyson. “But there are tricks.”

“Tricks?” Biz replies, waggling his eyebrows, then ushers them into another room, with a professional looking soundboard and a bunch of equipment Tyson has no idea how to even begin doing anything with.  “Here’s my set up. Have you ever done this before?” he asks Tyson. Tyson shakes his head. “Okay, a podcasting virgin. Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”

“Who says I want it gentle?” Tyson asks, and Biz bursts out into laughter, while Gabe does some sort of snorting twitchy thing.

“You’re going to be awesome at this, I can tell. It’s simple, really—or for you it is, I’ll do a bunch of editing after. But you sit here, talk into the mic. Don’t worry about pauses or whatever, I’ll edit those out. And don’t try too hard to be funny. That’s what editing is for.”

“I’m not sure even editing can make Brutes funny.”

“You think I’m hilarious,” Tyson informs Gabe, and then nods at Biz, who keeps going.

“I’ll make sure the conversation keeps going, don’t worry about that. Is it okay if I take some pictures? I like to put them on the ‘Gram as publicity.”

“Sure.” Tyson gives a cheesy smile and thumbs up, and Biz laughs and pulls out his phone.

“Sick. Looking good.” He turns to Gabe. “And you?”

“If you want,” Gabe replies, like he doesn’t love the camera on him all the time.

“Great. So, let’s get started.” Biz sits down at a chair, nods towards another one for Tyson. Tyson sits down. Okay. This is really happening. He’s actually going to be on Biz-Nasty does New York. He’s going to make a fool of himself on microphone. This is going to be great. He can do this. “Gabe, do you want to hang out in here, or there’s TV in the living room—”

Gabe glances at Tyson. Tyson smiles back, or tries to. He’s fine. He’s got this. Gabe’s gaze is so comfortable and Tyson knows it so well and he’s steady and he’s always there and—“I’ll stay,” Gabe says, and Tyson lets out a breath. “If that’s fine.”

“Yeah, sure. Just be careful with the noise.” Biz nods towards a third chair. You can chill there.”

Gabe’s hand trails briefly over Tyson’s shoulders as he goes, and he smiles at Tyson, the smile that’s a dare and a comfort all in one. Tyson takes a breath.

“Okay, we’re good?” Biz asks, once Gabe’s settled. “Let’s go.” He pushes a few buttons, then, “Hey everyone, this is Biz-Nasty, welcome to Biz-Nasty does New York! Today we’re discussing everyone’s favorite subject—food! New York’s got too many restaurants to count, but when that’s overwhelming, how do you figure out which one is right for you? Which place to grab a dog is the right place? To talk to us about this, I invited a very special guest—Guy Fieri! But after he left me a very long and apologetic voicemail saying he had better things to do, like dye his hair again, I found someone else—local blogger, Tyson Barrie, aka T-Bear, aka T-Beauty. Say hi, T-Beauts!”

“Hi!” Tyson feels like he should wave, but he manages not to.

“So, talk to me. I’m hungry and in the city. What’s my next move?”

“Ice cream,” Tyson answers promptly, and Biz chuckles.

It’s surprisingly easy, actually—Tyson likes to talk, Biz is fun and charming and for all his persona as a bumbling bro, he’s good at this.

“Okay, another scenario.” Biz waves his hands in the air. “One of your bros has a date. He lives in Washington Heights. The girls lives in Bay Ridge. Where do they go?”

“They don’t, that’s not going to work out,” Tyson replies immediately. “Unless he likes long distance relationships.”  

Biz guffaws. “Let’s say he’s got a thing for the train.”

“Okay, well. Who is it? Like, I’m not telling Nate to go on a date to the same place as EJ.”

“Are they different? From your blog, I assumed you just constantly moved everywhere with a pack of large hot blonde men.”

Tyson snorts. Gabe’s making an offended face. “You’re not wrong,” he agrees. “Do you know how hard it is? I can never describe any of my friends. Oh, you mean Gabe? Yeah, he’s the hottest blonde. How does that describe anything?” Gabe’s smirking. He’s going to be unbearable after this.

“So if I wanted to be on your blog, would I have to dye my hair blonde too?”

“For you I’d make an exception,” Tyson tells him. “You’re at least one of the three.”

“You saying I’m not large?” Biz scoffs, claps his hands to his heart. “Tyson. T-Bear. T-Beauts. I thought what we had was special.”

“You’re pretty big,” Tyson tells him, ogling him cheerfully back as Biz flexes. “It feels unfair to listeners to make you compare off camera.”

“We can get a camera!”

“Yes!” Tyson cheers, and Biz laughs.

“Okay, so. Getting back to it. Let’s go more specific. Let’s say Gabe’s taking you out for dinner. Where should he pick?” Biz turns to wink at Gabe. “Take notes, dude.”

“Um.” Tyson looks at Gabe. They aren’t—but he can’t say that, what if the Josts are listening? “It’s Gabe, so I’d make him go wherever I’ve been wanting to try recently.”

“He doesn’t get to surprise you?”

“Gabe doesn’t get to pick restaurants.” Gabe makes a face. “Sorry,” Tyson tells him, “But if you chose restaurants we’d only go to the Vietnamese place, and you only found out about that because of me anyway.”

Biz grins. “Gabe, a rebuttal?”

Gabe gets up, and Biz’s mic is closer but he still comes over to Tyson’s, so when he leans in he’s basically pressed against Tyson’s side. “I like places other than Vietnamese.”

“Really? Name one.”

“Tyson’s just shy and doesn’t like when we go someplace nice,” Gabe tells Biz. “He can’t handle it.”

“I do not,” Tyson retorts. “I can handle myself at nice places.”

“I don’t think that’s what you’re supposed to do at nice places,” Biz says, and Tyson laughs even as his face goes red, and over his shoulder, Gabe starts to laugh too, low and deep in Tyson’s ear.

It’s goes well enough from there, and then they’re wrapping up and then it’s done.

“You did great, man,” Biz tells Tyson, as they get up. “You’re a real natural.”

“Um, I think I managed to embarrass myself like, once a second.”

“Yeah, exactly. You’re funny. People like funny. It’s endearing.” He glances over at Gabe. “Right?”

“I definitely find it funny when Tyson says weird shit,” Gabe agrees. Tyson makes a face at him.

“See? You’re great at it. Relatable.” Biz finishes coiling up a wire and sets it down. “Never underestimate the power of a pratfall.”

“Title of my sex tape,” Tyson says, mournfully, and Gabe snorts into his hand. Biz laughs.

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?” he says, nodding at Gabe, and Tyson has a second of confusion before he keeps going. “But you should think about it.”

“Pratfalls during sex?”

“Podcasting.” Biz goes on. He leans against the wall apparently ready to chat forever, which Tyson likes in a man. “Your blog’s awesome, but it can only do so much. Podcasting’s where the money’s at right now. Patreon, or one of the networks—and people just send me shit. It’s sick.”

“Um.” Tyson blinks. He hadn’t—that wasn’t something he thought about. His blog honestly happened as an accident; he hadn’t had a plan or anything. Even now that it feels like a commitment, it’s not really—it’s not a thing. “I don’t—I mean, I never thought—it’s not—what would I do, just talk?”

“You could. ‘s what I do. Or get a partner.” He glances at Gabe, then adds, suddenly avuncular, “I wouldn’t advise your actual partner, however funny you guys are. It’s like getting a tattoo. It never ends well.”

Okay. So, Biz definitely thinks they’re really dating, which is something Tyson’s going to deal with, sometime when he isn’t blue screen of deathing over the idea of actually doing a podcast. “I mean—I don’t have any of the equipment—I couldn’t—”

“What Tyson means,” Gabe cuts in, and then his arm’s over Tyson’s shoulders, a comforting, steady heavy weight. Tyson takes one breath, then another. “Is that it’s a good idea, and he’ll think about it, and thank you for the suggestion.”

“What he said,” Tyson agrees. Biz shakes his head, clearly amused.

“Fair. The equipment thing isn’t a dealbreaker, though—we could work something out, or you can rent stuff, or just have shitty recordings for a while.” He straightens. “Anyway, I’m sure you guys have like, shit to do, because you have real people jobs. You don’t need to listen to an old man yammer on.”

Tyson eyes him. He’s a few years older than them, yeah, but he is very clearly not old, and very clearly not feeling what age he has. “You don’t look like an old man,” he tells Biz, who grins and flexes a little.

“Keep up your exercise regimes, young padawans, and you too can look as good at me at a ripe old age.”

“Aw, but you don’t look a day over twenty-five.” Tyson flutters his eyelashes, and Biz laughs again. Gabe’s arm is still warm on his shoulders, against his side.

“I know, right? Good genes.”

Tyson can’t resist the opportunity to leer at Biz’s—admittedly long—legs in his jeans. “I’ll say.”

“Time to go,” Gabe announces, as Biz does a few ridiculous stretching things that Tyson thinks is supposed to demonstrate how good his jeans are.

“Someone’s jealous,” Biz sing-songs. Gabe scowls, and Tyson nudges him cheerfully with his shoulder.

“He doesn’t like a suggestion he isn’t the prettiest person in the room. So vain, you know,” he tells Biz, then, to Gabe,  “Don’t worry, Landy. Your jeans are very nice too when you wear them.”

“Very nice,” Gabe mutters.

“You don’t need me to go on about how hot you are, I do that embarrassingly often,” Tyson informs him, which they both know is unfortunately true. “I don’t want to risk your head getting too big to fit through the door.”

Gabe rolls his eyes, but he looks pleased.

“Oh yeah. Definitely a fine figure of a man,” Biz agrees, giving Gabe the most obvious elevator eyes in the world. Gabe, because he is shameless, looks even more pleased by that. Tyson sighs. He’s ridiculous.

“Come on, Gabe, yes, you’re gorgeous, you’re the prettiest princess, now can we go?”

“Don’t worry, babe, you’ll always be the prettiest to me,” Gabe tells him, a bounce back in his step. Tyson gives Biz his most irritated look, and lets Gabe herd him out of the apartment.

They make it back to the apartment, spend the rest of the evening on the couch, Gabe working and Tyson working on his latest blog post. When he’s done with that, he goes to his stats page. There are—he’s always amazed by how many hits there are. He doesn’t get it. He just talks about the food he likes and takes pictures of his friends. There’s nothing special about that. He’s definitely not—like, Biz is properly funny, and engaging and a good interviewer. Tyson’s occasionally amusing, but he’s a mess, he knows that. If he were to start a podcast—he’d have to get equipment and maybe his readers wouldn’t listen and what if they did and it started to take over his life, he likes teaching, he wants to keep doing that, and hanging out with his friends, and what if listeners expected more of—

“Hey,” Gabe says, suddenly, and Tyson jerks his eyes up off the screen. Gabe’s laptop is closed, and he’s got his ‘I don’t need to think about work anymore’ face on. “I’m going to bed. You staying up?”

Tyson glances at the clock on the laptop, and shakes his head. Sleeping will make him feel better. “No, I’ll come too.” He holds up his hands, and Gabe snorts.

“Seriously?” he asks, but he grabs them to yank Tyson up.

“Some of us did hard work today,” Tyson retorts.

“Yeah, you recorded a podcast, so tough.”

“Hey, I was funny for like, two hours!”

“I know that’s a lot of work for you.” Gabe’s hands are still on Tyson’s, and he had to stand in front of Tyson to pull him up, so now he’s close, close enough that Tyson has to look up to make a face at him. Close enough that it’s very clear how blue his eyes are, how perfectly his beard frames his lips. How soft his lips are.

“Um.” Gabe swallows. Tyson can see his Adam’s apple move. “Tyson?”

Okay, and Tyson was definitely just zoning out staring at Gabe’s lips. “Sorry. Your lips are just really nice.”

Gabe makes a strangled noise, that honestly Tyson echoes as he turns red. He shouldn’t be allowed to talk after eleven. “Fuck, sorry. I shouldn’t—I’m really tired.”

“Clearly,” Gabe agrees. His Adam’s apple bobs again, but he’s farther away this time. “Come on, bed.”

“Yeah,” Tyson nods. By now, they’ve got the nighttime routine down as much as their morning routine, for every iteration of them—when they go to bed at the same time, when Gabe goes to bed first, when (more often) Tyson does. So Tyson doesn’t really have to think about it, how Tyson goes to the bathroom first as Gabe changes, then they cross paths in the hallway, so. Tyson’s in bed and flicking through his phone—Nate’s excited to hear how recording went, Katie and Jamie are tag team bugging him about Gabe, his mom’s apparently been nagging his sister about something and they both want him to side with them, EJ is trying to convince anyone on the group chat to watch some horse thing with him tomorrow—when Gabe comes back in.

It’s as nice a sight as him in his suit, really, Gabe in just his boxers, with his hair a little messy. He shuts off the main light, and gets into bed; Tyson finishes off his texts.

“You good?” Gabe asks.

“Yeah, just—” One more text to Jamie, telling him that he really will explain everything, and then Tyson rolls over to plug his phone in. “I’m good.”

Gabe shuts off his bedside light, and the room’s dark other than the bits of streetlight coming in through the window.

Tyson lies on his back, closes his eyes. He can feel Gabe shifting a little bit next to him; he always takes a while to fall asleep. Tyson usually doesn’t; he can drop off just about anywhere, usually. But tonight…

“Hey,” he says, even his whisper loud in the quiet of the room. He rolls onto his side.

Gabe’s on his side, facing away from Tyson, but he rolls over when Tyson talks, facing him. They don’t usually—this is perilously close to pillow talk, though they’re on different pillows and there’s a respectable amount of room between them. Even in the shadows, Gabe’s really fucking hot. This is what people who actually sleep with him see, Tyson thinks, and quickly decides not to think that.

“Yeah?” Gabe asks. Tyson could count his eyelashes if he wanted.

“Thanks for coming with me today,” Tyson tells him. It’s easier, in the dark. To admit it would have been hard, alone.

Gabe smiles—softer than usual, something for the night. “Of course.” Tyson almost feels something brush his shin. “You really did do well.”

Tyson swallows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Gabe is serious, earnest— “You’re good at that stuff.” Tyson waits for the punchline any compliment between them is usually attached to, but it doesn’t come.

“I’m okay.”

“Tyson.” Gabe definitely kicks him this time, and Tyson scoffs. Way to break the mood. Except—somehow it doesn’t; somehow Gabe’s still watching him with those big eyes, like he believes everything he’s saying. “You’re good at it. You should do a podcast, if you want.”

“I’m thinking about it,” Tyson admits. In the quiet of their bed, just the two of them—he can say it. It’s easier.

“Good.” Gabe smiles, and this time the nudge of his foot against Tyson’s calf is gentler. More proud. Then it stays there, resting against Tyson’s leg. “If I can help…”

“I know.” That’s never been in question. “You’re a good friend, Gabriel Landeskog,” Tyson informs him, and Gabe’s smile does—something.

“So’re you,” he agrees. His foot isn’t there anymore. “Good night, Tyson.” It’s firm.

“Good night, Gabe,” Tyson echoes, and lets his eyes close.

He’s basically all the way asleep, when he hears what sounds like a muffled groan from Gabe’s side of the bed, but he’s asleep before he can wonder why.

///

In the morning, they have their usual morning routine, Tyson shoves coffee into Gabe’s hands, Gabe smiles gratefully and tells him to have a good day, and Tyson sets off dreading a day of Katie taking any spare moment to interrogate him.

That’s the last time Tyson sees Gabe for four days.

He knows Gabe exists, hypothetically. He sends Tyson texts, about how he’s going to be home late and how one of his cases just exploded and how he’s got a lot of gutwork and how he’s going to kill the other associate who messed something up. The leftovers in the fridge disappear overnight. One night, when Tyson stays up particularly late watching stupid YouTube videos, he thinks he might half wake up to the sounds of someone coming into the bedroom, and there’s a hand gentle on his hair and a voice murmuring something to him in Swedish.

He wakes up and Gabe’s sacked out next to him. It’s surprisingly good to see his face. It’s not like Tyson hasn’t gone days without seeing him before, but—it’s different, somehow. Seeing him lying there. But he doesn’t stir while Tyson’s there, so he just leaves coffee in the pot, and goes to work, and when he gets home Gabe and the coffee have disappeared.

“This is what you get, for dating a lawyer,” Nate tells him, when he complains.

“I’m not dating him,” Tyson retorts, and takes a bite of his ice cream. He understands that he is in his late twenties and should probably stop having ice cream dinner, but sometimes he just had to. And Nate didn’t judge. Or at least presumably he doesn’t, given he was sprawled in the armchair, his own Ben & Jerrys carton next to him. “I’m just not good at living alone. I go crazy.”

“You lived alone before this,” Nate points out. “Also, go?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tyson waves his spoon. He set himself up for that. “And I guess I’d gotten used to it? But it’s just so much better, with Gabe here.”

Nate grins. “Awwww,” He coos. Tyson throws a pillow at him.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do.” Nate tells him, rolling his eyes. “It’s still very cute. You miss him.”

“I don’t miss him. The apartment just feels big. And the bed.”

“And the bed?” Nate echoes, smirking. “Seriously, bro?”

“You can make a habit fast!” Tyson protests. Gabe’s warm and he makes the bed warm. Tyson’s not used to falling asleep without it anymore. “Anyway, you know—we aren’t.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I don’t get why people keep on being weird,” Tyson goes on, rising to the theme. Nate can tease, whatever, he does understand that their plan is ridiculous. But he and Gabe are not dating. They aren’t even pretending to, outside of a few circumstances. “Did I tell you? Biz thought we were dating too. I didn’t even say anything to him. Gabe was just—there. I don’t know why.”

“Maybe because he saw you two together?” Nate suggests. Tyson scowls at him. He’s being useless. “Brutes. You know how you guys are.”

“Yeah, we’re friends. We bicker a lot. If that’s your criteria for a relationship—”

“What you guys do isn’t bickering. That’s like, intense flirting.”

“Okay, sometimes,” Tyson admits. “But that’s because Gabe can flirt with a brick wall.”

“Uh-huh.” Nate says, clearly skeptical. “That’s the only reason.”

“And it’s fun,” Tyson adds. Nate gives him a look for a second, like he’s being stupid. “What?”

“And because you guys are always like, thirty seconds away from jumping each other,” Nate adds. Tyson bites down too hard on his spoon, and swears when it jars his teeth.

“What?”

“Come on, Tys. Are you saying you wouldn’t sleep with him?”

“I do sleep with him.”

“Tys.”

“Yeah, he’s hot! Everyone would fuck Gabe Landeskog if there was a chance, obviously. He’s like—the pinnacle of fuckability.” Everyone knows this. Tyson doesn’t get where Nate’s going with it. “And like, fine, living together means it’s been harder to get me time. That has been kind of nice about Gabe not being here. Plenty of time to myself.” He waggles his eyebrows, and Nate groans.

“TMI, bro.”

“You asked.” He’s not lying, though. That’s been one major advantage of Gabe not being there. After months of nothing more than jerking off in the shower, Tyson’s finally had time to really take his time again. Gabe hasn’t even been home enough to comment on the sheets changing. And even if he did—whatever, it’s their bed, Tyson has a right to it too. It’s much nicer jerking off in bed than anywhere else, where it’s comfortable and smells a little like Gabe. “I feel like they don’t warn you about that when they talk about moving in together.”

“Yeah, because usually when you move in together you can fuck each other.”

“Yeah,” Tyson agrees with a sigh. He’s not wrong. “Maybe I should have thought of that.” He pauses, then. “Maybe we should go out this weekend. If I fuck someone else…”

“Yeah, that’ll solve precisely none of your problems.”

“It’d make me feel better.”

“Well—”

There’s a knock on the door.

“Hello?” Tyson calls. He’s too lazy to get up.

“Hey!” Josty calls back. “It’s Tyson.”

“No, this is Tyson,” Tyson tells him, snickering to himself, then adds, “It’s open, come on in!”

“Is this—oh, hi Nate,” Josty adds, coming in, closely followed by Comphy. They’re both dressed up, in tight jeans and button downs in the universal ‘going out’ clothes of guys in their early twenties. It looks nice; Tyson wolf-whistles. Josty grins, and Comphy smirks and does a little twirl.

“Yeah?” Josty asks, holding out his hands. “It matches? Comphy said it did, but I wanted a second opinion.”

“Come on, would I ever steer you wrong?” Comphy asks, throwing an arm over Josty’s shoulder. Josty looks over at him, something warm in it. Interesting.

But Josty just smiles and throws back, “Yeah, if you thought you needed the advantage.”

“I don’t need any help when I’ve got all this.” Comphy gestures down at himself.

“You need all the help you can get.”

“You look great, Josty,” Tyson interrupts. “Very fuckable. If I was five years younger, I’d be into it.” Nate clears his throat. “I mean,” Tyson adds, “If Gabe were out of the picture.” He pauses, gives Josty an exaggerated once over. “Or maybe even if he wasn’t. I’ve forgotten what he looks like, and you’re looking pretty good…”

Josty goes red. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Comphy confirms. “See, I told you so!”

“You guys going out?” Nate puts in. Comphy nods.

“Yeah.”

“And we weren’t invited?” Tyson pouts. “Come on, we can be fun!”

Comphy eyes the two of them and their ice cream. “You can?”

“Yes!” Tyson protests. “Also, ice cream for dinner is the food of kings.”

“People in relationships aren’t really invited,” Josty tells him, smirking.

“Oooh,” Tyson draws out, and Nate chimes in with,

“Like that, eh?”

“It is. So only fun people need apply.”

“That’s why Nate Dawg wasn’t invited, then—”

“Hey!”

“But come on, I could still wing!”

“You’re an awful wingman,” Comphy informs him, which, honestly, hurtful. “You start flirting with them instead.”

“I do not!”

“You really do,” Nate agrees. He’s just mad about Tyson calling him not fun, which, Tyson loves him, but it’s just true.

“I do not,” Tyson repeats. “And Josty needs my continued mentorship. How else am I supposed to pass on my technique?”

“Your technique is to wear a low cut shirt and give people a lot of compliments,” Nate informs him dryly. “It’s not complicated.”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“Would Gabe be okay with you going out without him?” Josty asks. Tyson scowls.

“He doesn’t get to say what I can or can’t do. And especially not when he’s not here, anyway.”

“Tyson’s feeling neglected,” Nate explains. Comphy gives him questioning eyebrows from behind Josty. But there’s nothing really he can do to explain when Josty’s there.

“I’m very neglected,” Tyson agrees. That’s generally true. But also—he glances at Nate, tries to communicate what he needs with his eyebrows.

“Hey, Comphy,” Nate says, pushing himself up. “Do you have a sec? I wanted to ask you something about, um. EJ’s party?”

“Yeah?” Comphy looks skeptical, but Tyson grins at Nate. He loves best friend telepathy. Comphy takes a few steps towards Nate, and Tyson stands up.

“First piece of wisdom, Josty, is always have a snack before you go.” He jerks his head toward the kitchen, and Josty wanders over with him.

“Yeah?” he asks. Tyson was clearly not very subtle.

“I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay,” Tyson tells him, and does open the fridge, because a snack is never the wrong answer. “With who you were planning to pick up. Or like, what gender.”

“Oh. Yeah. Um.” Josty rubs at the back of his neck. “I mean, yeah? I haven’t like, told him yet, but I haven’t—I mean, I think he knows?”

“As long as you’re only doing what you want.” Tyson says. What does he have in the fridge that’ll help? “I mean, you shouldn’t pick up if you don’t want to.”

“I know, I’m not stupid.”

“Okay.” Then Tyson straightens, and turns around. “And—be careful. About who you get crushes on.”

Josty’s face flood with color. “What?”

For a second, Tyson considers being tactful, but he’s not good at that. “Comphy. It’s—crushes on friends are fun and safe, but you’ve got to be careful about boundaries. And making sure you have them before it gets too bad.”

“Is that what happened with you and Gabe?” Josty demands. He’s still bright red. “And—I know. I’m not stupid, I told you. It’s not even—JT’s just a friend. I’m not—he’s not—”

“Okay, if you say so. And—”

The door bangs open, and Gabe’s already talking when he comes in, with a “So fucking stupid, I can’t deal with—oh.” He cuts himself off. Tyson sticks his head out of the kitchen. Gabe’s in full angry Viking mode, his face like thunder and tension in all of his muscles and his glare intense.  “What are you doing here?” he demands, of the room in general but also of Comphy, who happens to be the closest.

“Just checking in with Tyson.” Comphy says. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Gabe snaps, and then his glare sweeps the room indiscriminately, and he stalks past them and into the bedroom.

Tyson looks at Nate, who looks back. “Okay, guys, why don’t you get going,” Tyson suggests. Gabe in a mood doesn’t do well with people, and he’d rather the young guys not get caught in the crossfire.

“But I thought you said we should have a snack?”

“Yeah, grab a hot dog at Papaya,” Tyson suggests. “Go have fun. Be safe. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

“Sounds like fun,” Comphy says, but he heads towards the door, Josty falling into step so they jostle each other to fit through the door.

Nate raises his eyebrows, once they’re both gone. “Well, at least he’s home?”

“Yeah, angry Gabe is definitely best case.” Tyson rolls his eyes. “I just wanted ice cream.”

“This is what you get for signing up to live with him.”

“Yeah” Tyson pats the apartment wall. “Worth it, I guess.” Nate hums, maybe skeptical or maybe agreeing. Tyson does love his apartment. And—he knows how to deal with Gabe in a temper.

“Thanks for the welcoming committee,” Gabe snaps, when Tyson opens the bedroom door. His tie’s off, thrown on the bed, and he’s fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, clearly too worked up to deal with them. “Just what I needed.”

“Yeah, it’s amazing how I can have friends to my apartment,” Tyson agrees. “They’re gone, by the way. So you don’t have to worry about scaring them.”

“What did they want, anyway?”

“A green light on their outfits to go out.” Tyson eyes Gabe. “Okay. Lay it on me.”

“What?”

“What was so shitty you’re all huffy.”

Gabe blinks for a second, then—“It’s just so fucking stupid! We’ve been working on this brief all week and I haven’t had a chance to breathe and now they want me to make this argument and there’s just nothing there, like I have checked everywhere and the law is not on our side and the argument doesn’t work, it’s not going to work, we’re going to lose on it, but the senior associate still wants to make it and we presented to the partner today and the partner said he was disappointed in what we had like it was my fucking fault that the fucking courts have never said what we want!” Gabe’s red by the end of it, huffing and puffing.

“That sucks,” Tyson tries. He doesn’t really get the law, or honestly exactly what Gabe does, but he understands shitty bosses.

“Yeah it really fucking does!” Gabe finally gets the top button of his shirt undone and starts yanking on the ones further down. “I look like an idiot and even though I knew better than to try it!”

“Don’t worry, angry looks good on you,” Tyson puts in. Gabe ignores him.

“And I haven’t slept for like four days and I haven’t seen you or anyone other than the people in the office and then they—it’s a stupid argument not worth making and they just can’t fucking see it!”

“Okay, let’s not break the shirt, it’s not it’s fault.” Tyson steps in, because he really doesn’t trust Gabe not to like, rip the shirt in half. Gabe lets him grab his wrist so he can undo his cufflinks.

“And what happens when the senior partners see what’s going to happen? If I’m going to make partner I need to start impressing them, not fucking around with this shit and losing again, because this case is going to lose on this and then—”

“Well, if there’s one thing Law and Order’s taught me, it’s that the good guys lose sometimes.”

“Law and Order isn’t real law, and we’re not the good guys here, I don’t think. Or like, no one’s the good guys.” Tyson’s finished with the cufflink of Gabe’s right hand, so he lets it drop and picks up his left. “It’s all just corporate idiots who think there’s no liability and don’t realize that you can’t just fucking break contracts when you want to!”

“So who cares if you lose?”

Gabe’s mouth clicks shut, and he stares down at Tyson. “Who cares?”

“Yeah. I mean, losing sucks, trust me, I get it, but you’re getting paid either way, right?”

Gabe’s mouth opens and shuts again. “Yeah, but the partners aren’t happy about it.”

“So you make them happy other ways.” Tyson shrugs. Gabe’s always so dramatic about shit like this, like it’s always the end of the world. He waggles his eyebrows. “I can suggest a few.”

“Tyson,” Gabe sighs, and Tyson smirks.

“What! I was talking about making brownies. Everyone likes that. Or, you can put a whoopie cushion under the associate’s chair a meeting, that would really show him.” Gabe snorts. “I have a lot of finger paint, we could dump it on him on the subway accidentally on purpose. Or I’ve always wanted to try voodoo, we could do that?”

“That won’t make us do better.” Gabe insists, but he’s definitely relaxing.

“But it’ll make you feel better,” Tyson points out. “And hey, you aren’t getting fired over this, so that’s a good start.”

“But I—”

“And you didn’t eat the partner’s lunch, that would have been a real problem.” Tyson nods. “Remember when I worked as temp in the insurance company? Someone got fired for that. Like, I get being protective of your food, but that seems like it’s going to little far. It was just an egg sandwich. I don’t think an egg sandwich could ever be that good.”

“Maybe I’ll tell the partners Johnson ate their lunch,” Gabe mutters, and Tyson grins.

“Yeah, there’s a plan! That’ll show him.”

“It’s just—” Gabe groans. “I fucking hate losing. And being forced to get shit wrong.”

“Win some, lose some.” Tyson shrugs. Gabe’s always been more of a perfectionist than him. He likes winning as much as the next maybe-too-competitive guy, but Gabe needs it to be perfect too. “And hey. Maybe someone else’ll overrule it.”

“Don’t even talk about an appeal,” Gabe says, in the sort of tone that a more religious person would cross themselves with. “This better not even go to trial. They should just settle it and make it not my problem.”

“Our legal system, ladies and gentlemen.”

“Fuck off,” Gabe tells him, but he’s shaking his head, instead of his hands. Then he looks down, and goes still. Like he just noticed Tyson’s actually there, still holding his wrist even though he should have let go a while ago. “Sorry. It’s been a long week.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Tyson agrees. “You know, when I’ve caught a glimpse of you.”

“The brief is to the partner, at least.”

“There you go! Off your plate. Nothing more for you to do.” Tyson eyes him. “Other than put a shirt on and come watch TV with Nate and me.”

“Is there food?”

Tyson rolls his eyes. “Is there food, he asks. It’s like you don’t even know me.”

“Is there food other than the ice cream you’re having for dinner?”

“Yes,” Tyson tells him, pointed. “I was going to give you half the curry I got, but not if you’re going to make fun of me.”

Gabe sticks out his lower lip, as he moves to take his shirt off. It’s quite a sight. “I’ve had a really long day, Brutes.”

“So have I. So has Nate.”

“Please?” Gabe asks, his voice a little low, and—Tyson swallows. He can feel himself going red.

“Yeah, fine,” he mutters. “I’ll go put it in the microwave.”

“You’re the best,” Gabe tells him, and Tyson rolls his eyes as he leaves.

Nate’s still sitting in the living room, messing with his phone, as Tyson comes out of the bedroom and heads towards the kitchen. “Need me to leave?” he asks.

Tyson opens the fridge. “Why?”

He can hear the chair creak, then Nate coming into the kitchen. “So you can have more time to talk him down.”

“Nah, he’s good. We’re just going to chill.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. The kids might have been too much, but you know how to deal with a pissy Landy.”

“Yeah,” Nate agrees slowly, but he goes back to the living room. Tyson puts the curry into a bowl and sticks it in the microwave, then goes back to his seat on the couch, because Nate’s going to put on Entourage again if he’s not supervised and Tyson cannot watch that show again. And anyway, he and Gabe were going through Westworld, and Nate can suffer through that.

Gabe comes out during Tyson and Nate’s debate, though he ignores them to go to the kitchen to get the curry out of the microwave. Then he pauses in the doorway, bowl in hand. He looks exhausted, standing there, his shoulders sagging a little and bags under his eyes. It looks good on him, but it makes Tyson ache a little, makes him want to push and bicker until Gabe’s smiling and laughing again.

“Come on, Landy, wouldn’t you rather watch Westworld?” Tyson demands.

“It’s so serious! Entourage is a classic.”

Gabe takes a long breath, then “I’ve got to go with Tyson on this one,” he decides, and comes into the room. He sits down on the couch next to Tyson, close enough that their knees knock, and puts the bowl on the table.

“Yeah, big surprise.”

“It is,” Tyson agrees. “Since when do you agree with me?”

“Since I’d rather watch Westworld?”

“No, but your taste in TV is shit, this means we should probably watch something else.”

“Or your taste is usually shit, except for Westworld.”

“No, I think you might be sick.” Tyson reaches over, puts the back of his hand against Gabe’s forehead. “Are you hallucinating? Quick, your thoughts on ABBA! Maybe you’re an imposter.”

“ABBA is the pinnacle of music, you’re an idiot, and Lundquist is the best hockey player out there right now,” Gabe recites, but his lips are twitching.

“Shit, none right. It must really be him.” Tyson shakes his head. “I guess you’re just outvoted, Nate.”

“Never would have guessed that would happen,” Nate mutters, but he picks up the remote to start messing with it.

Gabe finishes his curry within the first twenty minutes of the episode, then he leans back on the couch, stretches out his arms over the back. He’s all soft in his sweatpants and t-shirt, and he sat closer than normal on the couch, probably to get to the coffee table, so it’s really just like, some sort of inevitable that Tyson ends up leaning into his side. He’s warm. Maybe ice cream for dinner in winter wasn’t the best idea.

It doesn’t matter, anyway, because Tyson’s got Gabe tucked against him and he and Nate can throw commentary at the screen as Gabe chuckles quietly against Tyson, and all in all, it’s a nice night, even if it’s not very long before he can feel Gabe sagging, and the next time an episode ends, Gabe’s head’s resting against Tyson’s, clearly dead weight.

“Should we wake him up?” Nate asks.

Tyson shakes his head. “I’ll get him to bed later. Let’s watch another episode.”

Nate gives him a look like he’s being stupid again, but he hits the next button.

Nate does leave after that episode, because it’s getting late, and then Tyson manages to squirm out of the way to extract himself from Gabe’s hold. He stirs a little when Tyson does that, making low mumbling sounds, but it doesn’t last long, and he stays out as Tyson gets ready for bed.

It’s only once he’s about to go to bed that he goes back to where Gabe’s head’s tipped back on the couch cushion. “Gabe,” he tells him, and shakes his shoulder gently. It doesn’t work, obviously, because Gabe sleeps like the dead. He shakes a little harder, talks louder. “Hey, Gabe. Wake up.”

“Hm?” Gabe’s eyes flutter open. It’s like watching something out of a Disney movie, seeing his eyelashes flutter over his blue blue eyes, seeing his lips curl into a smile, something soft and dreamy and happy, like seeing Tyson as he wakes up is the best thing he could see.

“Bedtime, come on. Let’s get you to sleep on a real bed.”

Gabe makes another noise, and looks ready to just fall back asleep on the couch, so Tyson grabs at his wrists, and tugs. “Up. Come on, Landy. We’ve got to go to bed.”

“Yeah,” Gabe mumbles, and lets Tyson pull him up, lead him to the bed. He flops down immediately once he gets there, rolls over and under the covers and, to all appearances, immediately falls asleep.

Tyson smiles and shakes his head, then gets into bed himself, and turns out the light.


	5. Chapter 5

Tyson’s at home when he gets the text, watching Westworld while Gabe pretends like he’s working but is really definitely watching and Nate pretends like he’s watching but is definitely texting someone.

_Check your email!_ It says, from the number saved in Tyson’s phone as Biz and a few microphone emojis.

Tyson fumbles his phone. Like, actually drops it onto the couch.

“Tys?” Gabe looks over from his computer, his eyebrows drawing together. Nate’s looking up too. “Are we just throwing phones now?”

“I’ll throw a phone at you,” Tyson tells him, and leans down to pick up his phone. He very calmly unlocks it, opens up his mail app—and throws the phone at Nate.

Nate catches it with all the aplomb of someone who’s an athlete and also has been around Tyson too long. “Phone fight? I feel like that’s probably a bad idea.”

“Only if your hands aren’t hot,” Gabe points out. He’s starting to get out his own phone.

“No, shut up,” Tyson snaps. “I can’t—it’s here.”

“No shit?” Nate looks down at the phone. “The episode?”

“Yeah. It’s posting tomorrow but I get it early?” Tyson looks at the door. He could get out of here and to the nearest—somewhere that isn’t here, pretty fast.

“Nope,” Gabe’s hand closes around his knees. “Come on, let’s listen.”

“I can’t.” Tyson shakes his head. “You do it.”

“You can’t?” Gabe repeats. “What’s there to do?”

“Hear myself be an idiot?” Tyson suggests. “You’ve already heard me do it, you know how bad it is. I don’t need to.”

“It’s not bad,” Gabe says seriously, and Tyson rocks back.

“Fuck, it’s horrible, isn’t it?”

“That’s what you assume, just because I said it wasn’t bad?” Gabe makes a face that on a less dignified man might be a pout. Or no, it really just is a pout, with just a hint of scowl thrown in.

“Yeah, you’re only nice to me when something’s going wrong.” It’s a gross exaggeration, but Tyson thinks it’s warranted. “I’m never going to be able to show my face again, am I?”

“Well I’m sure Biz can do wonders with editing,” Gabe tells him, more bite in his voice. “You can maybe make do with just a hat.”

“I look so bad in hats, though,” Tyson complains, and Gabe rolls his eyes.

“Is that seriously what you’re getting from this?”

“Yeah, I’m going to have to look bad for the rest of my life because I’ll only be able to wear hats and—”

“Give me that,” Gabe snaps, and holds his hand out for the phone.

“Hell no, I want to hear this.” Nate’s digging in his bag for headphones. “We’ll split, come here.”

“I’m on the couch, you come here.” Nate sighs, but he gets up, and shoves his way between Gabe and the arm of the couch. The couch isn’t really big enough for three grown men, but Tyson ends up jammed between Gabe and the arm and the other two manage despite the surfeit of muscles and blonde hair. Tyson watches anxiously as they each take an earbud, and Nate presses play.

He manages five seconds before, “Oh shit, it’s horrible, right?”

“We haven’t gotten past the ads,” Nate tells him, and Gabe adds,

“Hush.”

“But you’ll tell me if it’s really that bad? I can maybe stop it, and then I’ll get podcast blacklisted but at least—” Gabe’s hand claps over Tyson’s mouth. Tyson keeps talking for a few seconds, mainly to be a shit, but also because Gabe’s hand is big and warm and it’s distracting. But also it’s not worth it to fight it, so instead Tyson crosses his arms and waits as long as he can.

It’s hard to tell anything by their faces—Nate’s smiling, but he’s often smiling, and he’s also looking like he’s concentrating hard which could mean the volume’s too low or he’s taking notes on all the ways Tyson sounds like an idiot. Gabe’s clearly trying not to give anything away, no matter how closely Tyson studies his profile.

Tyson manages to wait a full ten minutes—well, thirty seconds before he steals Gabe’s phone out of his lap to mess around on Twitter while he waits, which mostly just means Gabe’s hand tightens on his head and sort of pulls him closer so that Gabe can look over his shoulder and make sure Tyson’s not posting anything.

Tyson would be offended, but honestly, it’s probably a good move by Gabe.

Finally, though—he bites at Gabe’s hand, which gest Gabe to swear and yank it away, and Tyson can finally demand, “So?”

“It’s good, bro.” Nate shrugs. “I mean, it sounds like you. You guys are funny.”

“Gabe?” Tyson turns to him, as best as he can when they’re basically pressed up against each other and Gabe’s arm is still sort of wrapped around his head. “Give it to me. I can take it.”

“Um.” Gabe’s cheeks go a little red, then he shakes his head. “I mean. No, it was fine. Actually fine!” he goes on, before Tyson can react. “Good, even. You’re fun on tape.”

“Are you saying I’m not fun off of it?” Tyson retorts, but he also relaxes, all at once. Nate might sugarcoat to make him feel better, but Gabe’s never hesitated to tell him when he sounds like an idiot. Given how he’s sitting, relaxing mostly means just slumping into Gabe’s side, which he’ll take. “So I won’t have to go hide in the bedroom and never come out?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gabe says, and Nate adds,

“Yeah, I think even in New York they don’t deliver to your bedroom.”

“Landy would bring me my food,” Tyson decides. “Room service, right to the bed.” He waits for the crack that he knows is coming, but when it doesn’t, he looks up again, at Gabe. “Right?”

Gabe’s looking down at him in something like confusion. Then he raises an eyebrow. “Does that mean you’ll let me pay for food sometimes?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, we split food costs.” Tyson glares back, daring him to argue. They both know he makes orders of magnitude more money than Tyson does. They both know that Tyson is not going to cave on letting Gabe spend more than his fair share. Tyson’s not going to live anywhere he can’t afford. “Just you wait, I’m going to become a big star and then I’ll be the one keeping you in the style you’ve become accustomed.”

“I’ll show you style,” Gabe mutters.

“I thought you were hiding in a bedroom, not becoming a star.”

“Who says I can’t do both?” Tyson asks. “I can—”

“Shut up,” Nate suddenly snaps just as Gabe sits up straighter.

“What?” Tyson looks at Nate, actually concerned. Nate’s Canadian politeness is bred into his bones; outside a hockey rink he doesn’t say shit like that.

Nate pulls the headphone jack out of the phone and hits play again. Biz’s voice fills the room, the voiceovers he inserts into the interviews. “—now, for those listeners who don’t follow Tyson’s blog, picture what it would look like if Chris Hemsworth and Chris Evans had a baby. Imagine that. It’s not really what Gabe the Babe looks like, but it’s the right level of hotness.”

“Damn!” Tyson hoots, and Gabe smirks.

“I knew I liked him,” he says. Tyson elbows him, because he deserves it for that.

“So imagine my surprise when into the interview walks not just Tyson—who is plenty cute himself—but also a scowling Swedish hottie.”

“That’s my new nickname for you,” Tyson announces. “The scowling Swede.”

“You forgot hottie,” Gabe points out. He’s still smirking. 

“I left it off because it didn’t alliterate.”

“Yes, he’s in love with both of you, this is gold be quiet,” Nate says, and rewinds a bit from where Gabe and Tyson had talked over it.

“So anyway, this is just context for me feeling like the biggest third wheel I’ve ever felt in my own studio, and that includes the time I interviewed Zachary Quinto and Miles McMillan. You’ll just be able to hear it, so I just need you to keep imagining, and what you need to imagine is like, your parents, if your parents were mad about each other and also really hot, and also had chemistry like woah. Just know that Gabe literally never stopped looking at Tyson with heart eyes like _woah_ , and whenever T-Beauts got a little nervous, instead of looking at me to make it better like a normal person, he got a smile from the Babe to make him relax. I just need you all to understand that this is what I was going through for the whole interview, because it was hard. I mean, _I_ wasn’t. But if, say, you were into guys, and, say, you liked big blondes and cute as a button brunettes, then, let’s say, it would be hard in a lot of ways. That’s all just for context, though, so you understand what happens when someone new is about to start talking.”

“Oh my god,” Nate says, hitting pause. “I know you said that he thought you guys were together, but— _damn_.”

It’s certainly—Tyson had known that Biz thought they were together, and that was weird enough, but—well, they’re friends, isn’t that what Biz is describing? “Wow,” Tyson says. “That’s—wow. I don’t think I’ve ever talked about you like that, Gabe, and I’ve said a lot of shit.”

“Biz clearly has good taste,” Gabe tells him. His cheeks are a little pink, but he smirks.

“You only said a few words, he didn’t know better,” Tyson says. “He thought we had chemistry, clearly he’s blind.”

“Yeah, we have no chemistry,” Gabe agrees. He nudges Tyson’s side, grinning. “You just need me to stop you from being nervous.”

“Well, who’s got the heart eyes, buster?” Tyson retorts. He can feel his red cheeks. Gabe’s his friend. Gabe’s—they bitch a lot, but in the end in a lot of ways only Nate has been as constant in his life as Gabe. Hell, even Gabe came first. Of course he’s going to look at Gabe. Also, it’s not like it’s hard on the eyes. “I was freaking out, I have an excuse.”

“Maybe I just like to look at you,” Gabe tells Tyson. Tyson’s mouth opens, then closes. That wasn’t an insult.

“What?”

“Or, you had something on your face the whole time.” Gabe shrugs. He’s still laughing. “You don’t know.”

“Fuck off, I didn’t.” Gabe’s definitely laughing at him. “I didn’t! Biz—someone would have told me.”

Gabe shrugs again. Tyson scowls at him. “You know what, if I did, who cares. It’s on brand. You can’t enjoy your food without making some mess. We aren’t all magic and can look like a model even with hot sauce on our cheeks. I accept who I am.”

“Biz certainly appreciated it,” Nate puts in. “Gabe’s not the only one he was gushing about. You missed your intro, Brutes.” 

“Gushing? Really?” Tyson leans over Gabe’s lap to grab for the phone to rewind it to listen. Gabe grunts as Tyson’s elbow probably catches him in the thigh. “I want to hear.”

“No, I have to finish!” Nate objects, holding the phone away, and Tyson really doesn’t have a choice but to lunge more over Gabe to get it back.

“I want to hear!” Tyson whines. “Gabe, make him give it back.”

“Are you actually five?” Gabe asks. Tyson must be putting his weight weirdly on Gabe; his voice comes out weirdly strangled.

That makes Tyson stop and raise an eyebrow at Gabe. “Excuse me, who held the remote over my head _yesterday_?”

Up on his knees like this, Tyson’s taller than Gabe. Tyson’s not used to this view of guys unless he’s in someone lap, which, well. He’s not _not_ in Gabe’s lap. But it’s still not a view he’s used to go Gabe, being able to look down at him skeptically. It’s a new view of the dusting of freckles on his cheeks, the sharp lines of his nose and cheeks, the way his eyes are caught in his eyelashes as he looks up at Tyson. _Heart eyes_ , Biz had said—what did that even mean?

“It’s not my fault you’re short and incapable of appreciating good TV,” Gabe says, and his voice is still weird.

“At least I’m not a nerd and incapable of appreciating good TV,” Tyson retorts.

“For the last time, I’m sorry that RuPaul’s was on at the same time as the Bachelor, but we had to make a choice!”

“And I’m saying that you used your tall privilege so we could watch your show!”

“Well it didn’t work, because we started late enough I got spoiled.” Gabe pouts, an inch away from a whine. His lips are a whole new shade of pink from up here. “So we both lost.”

“Good. You deserved it.”

“You guys both have shit taste in TV,” Nate inserts loudly, loud enough that Tyson starts, overbalances, and nearly falls onto Gabe, except Gabe catches his sides and steadies him.

For a second, Gabe’s fingers brush across the skin between Tyson’s jeans and his t-shirt. Even where his t-shirt’s between them, it’s thin enough that Tyson can feel the warmth of Gabe’s thumbs against his ribcage. They’ve been sleeping together for months now, and this feels closer than even when they’re lying next to each other in bed.

Tyson swallows, and settles his weight back onto his third of the couch. Gabe’ hands fall off of him slowly. “We watch something other than the news, so—”

“I stay educated,” Nate tells them, snootily. Tyson and Gabe exchange a look, then start in on Nate.

Gabe gets up to go to the bathroom a few minutes later, and Tyson immediately spreads out, so that he’s got his feet just shy of touching Nate’s thigh. “You know,” Nate says evenly. “Shit like that? That’s why Biz thinks you’re together.”

“Shit like what?” Tyson yawns, and eyes the phone. He really does need to listen to all of it. And post it tomorrow, he guesses.

“Like you sitting in his lap and bickering with him about what TV to watch in the evening as he feels you up,” Nate says, and Tyson snorts.

“If that’s what you think feeling someone up is, Nathan, than I’ve failed in my duties as your bro.”

“I’m just saying what it felt like from the outside,” Nate says, holding up his hands. “Please don’t make me part of your weird kinky sex life.”

“Ugh I wish I had a sex life,” Tyson groans, and that of course is when Gabe comes back.

“Why are we talking about how Brutes isn’t getting laid?” he asks, sounding cruelly cheerful. He surveys the couch, the totally free arm chair, and then pokes at Tyson’s stomach. “Move.”

“No,” Tyson tells him. “Not if you’re going to be mean.”

“How am I mean?” Gabe asks.

“You’re mocking my involuntary celibacy.” Tyson informs him.

“Big words,” Gabe retorts. He’s still grinning, that ass.

“Big problem,” Tyson retorts, and then laughs along with Nate and Gabe when he hears it. “Yeah, well, it’s not wrong. Some of us aren’t blonde bombshells, you dicks.”

“Like you’ve had a problem picking up in your life,” Nate retorts, rolling his eyes. He pats Tyson’s ankle. “Gabe, you can have my seat, I’ve got to get home.”

“Already?” Tyson complains, but when he looks at the clock it is late. “Fine, leave me alone with Landesnerd.”

“Leave me alone with this lump,” Gabe retorts, poking Tyson again. Tyson bats at his hand. He is such a younger child sometimes.

“I’m cute as a button,” Tyson tells him, “It’s on a podcast now, it’s true.”

“Okay then, don’t leave me alone with this cute as a button lump,” Gabe tells Nate, grinning at Tyson, and Tyson makes a face back and lets himself sink into the cushions. He’ll listen to the rest of the podcast later.

///

“It’s our star!” EJ cheers, as Tyson walks into the bar. Tyson grins and falls into the seat next to him. Only a few guys are out yet—EJ’s here, and Josty and Comphy and Kerfy, and Willy and Mikko and Bernie, but Tyson’s beat both Nate and Gabe, apparently.

“Dude, you’re _famous_ ,” Kerfy tells him, looking actually a little awestruck. He must be an aficionado of Biz Nasty.

“Yeah, one podcast guest spot, I am well on my way to fame and fortune,” Tyson agrees. “Want to buy the new star a drink? I’ll tell you all about Biz if you do.”

“Shit, yeah!” Kerfy gets to his feet. Tyson stares at him as he goes.

“I didn’t think that would work,” he admits.

“Kerfy’s like, obsessed with Biz’s podcast. He’s listened to all of them,” Comphy informs the table.

“I think he’s memorized all of them,” Josty adds, with a smiling but exasperated sigh like he’s been dealing with that for more than two months. “He’s going to ask to touch you next, be prepared.”

“He can touch me if he wants,” Tyson says with a waggle of his eyebrows.

EJ boos. “He’s like ten!”

“I was hooking up with guys older than me when I was his age,” Tyson points out. “And he’s like, what, twenty-four? That’s not creepy.” He looks at the younger guys. “Am I creepy?”

“Not for that,” Comphy puts in. Josty nods.

“And you don’t want Gabe to get in a fight with him,” he adds.

“Yeah,” EJ agrees, smirking. “You don’t want Gabe to have to do that, do you, Brutes?”

Tyson snorts. “Yeah, he’d be super threatened by Kerfy, I’m sure.”

“He did just get a whole thing about how cute you guys are together,” Comphy says, considering. Tyson tries to give him a look that asks what he’s doing, he knows they aren’t really together. “Kerfy can’t compete with that.”

“Like that matters to Landy,” EJ argues. “He gets pissy if _anyone_ flirts with Tyson.” Him, Tyson kicks under the table. He’s just being a dick, now. “He’s probably glowing, now that the whole podcast-listening world knows Tyson’s taken.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he loves the world knowing that we’re dating,” Tyson retorts, putting heavy emphasis on the last word as he glares at EJ. He’s spent the last few hours dealing with a million messages on his blog, about how they knew he and Gabe were dating. Some of them are very sweet, wishing them well and telling him how cute they are. Some of them are…less sweet, and more creepy, telling them how hot they are. Some of them are just nasty, both the ones who are angry he’s not with one of his other friends and the ones who are triumphant they were right. All of them are a little weird, and not things Tyson’s going to show Gabe. The sweet ones are maybe the weirdest—the rest of them Tyson can laugh about, but the sincerity is…a lot. The ones that say how good it seems like Gabe is for him. The ones that talk about how they wish they could find someone who looked at them like Gabe looks at Tyson.

And that’s not even talking about his new follower count.

“I’m sure he does,” EJ agrees calmly.

“He was only listening to the parts about how hot he was, anyway,” Tyson adds, because it’s the truth.

“Okay, here.” Kerfy comes back, and sets a sangria on the table in front of Tyson. “Now, what was Biz like? Was he really that funny? Is he nice? Did he talk about his speedo at all?”

“Yeah, it came up,” Tyson admits, and starts telling them about it.

Nate comes in about halfway through the story. He has the sort of pallor of a day spent in the library studying or doing whatever law students do, which even after five years of two friends in law school Tyson’s still not sure of, so Tyson drags him down next to him and into the retelling. Nate knows everything anyway.

Nate’s laughing again by the time Gabe gets there, after Tyson’s finished his story about Biz and Kerfy’s telling one about the time he went to a taping. If Nate looked tired, Gabe looks—well, he looks good, and he smiles when he sees them and jumps right into the teasing, but he also looks a little shell-shocked.

Tyson gets the feeling. He just checked his follower count again, and it’s skyrocketed so high he can barely see it, so he’s ignoring that.

“Long day at the office?” Tyson asks, once Gabe’s settled in across from him with a drink.

Gabe blinks, and looks at him. It’s a little tentative, in a way Gabe isn’t with Tyson, really. “Yeah,” he says, and sips on his beer. “Long day. Did you enjoy your thirty seconds of fame?”

“Dude, it’s exploding, I don’t even know.” Tyson groans. “I have so many messages. And followers. And like, fucking advertisement offers. Katie told my kids I was on a podcast yesterday, and now I have to make sure all the parents know we didn’t actually listen to it in class, but they insist I’m famous.” He shakes his head. “It’s not like this was the Colbert Report or something!”

“Still, it’s big.” Gabe pauses. “Um. Big enough that some people at work heard it.”

“Oh, shit, for real?” Tyson sits up. “Was it a problem? Did anyone connect the dots? I’m so sorry if they did and it was embarrassing, I—”

“Dating you is embarrassing, it’s true,” Gabe agrees. Tyson kicks him, amiably enough. Gabe kicks back. “And yeah, someone put the dots together—I guess I’ve mentioned a friend named Tyson who has a food blog.”

“Aw, you talk about me?” Tyson coos, and this time it’s Gabe’s turn to kick him.

“Only to tell them about your misadventures.”

“I do have the best misadventures,” Tyson agrees easily. He knows who he is. “But seriously. Is it okay? You didn’t get shit for it? I know Biz was a little over the top and he made up shit for the drama, if it’s messing things up for you I can get a retraction or something, do podcasts do retractions? I don’t know, I’ll figure it out—”

“It didn’t mess things up,” Gabe snaps. “But—well. A partner apparently got wind of it, and he listens to the podcast, and, well. Now my office thinks we’re dating.”

“Serves you right, for what you did with Stephanie,” Tyson replies. As long as Gabe’s career wasn’t actually hurt, he is all there for some reciprocal schadenfreude. “She keeps asking about you, by the way. About the sweet boy I’ve tricked into dating me. I don’t know what boy she’s talking about.”

“Aw, Tys.” Gabe grins, though there’s something a little off in it still. “You don’t think I’m sweet?”

“Not even a little,” Tyson retorts, which is only sometimes a lie. “Anyway, the point is you’re seducing the staff away from me, and I’m going to have to bring in so many muffins to make it up to her, and I can’t afford that, and then I’m not going to be able to pay rent and will be homeless and you’ll have to deal with the apartment on your own, so really, this is bad for you.”

“I am sweet,” Gabe insists, with that stubborn look on his face like he hadn’t heard any of the rest of it. “I’m sweet enough that you know I’d pay—”

“That’s not the point. And you won’t.”

“I could.” Gabe crosses his arms over his chest. “How am I not sweet?”

“You just called me embarrassing.”

“Embarrassingly cute,” Gabe retorts immediately, and Tyson know he’s flushing. Sue him, it’s nice to have a hot guy call him cute. “Try again.”

“You—”

“Aw, are the lovebirds having a spat?” EJ asks, scooting closer to Gabe. He’s got a mischievous smirk on, and on his other side Mikko’s eyes are gleeful. “Trouble in paradise?”

Next to Tyson, Nate’s deep in discussion with Josty and Comphy. But not so deep that Josty might not hear them. “You wish,” Tyson retorts. “We’re always solid.”

“Yeah,” Gabe retorts. He reaches across the table, and his hand wraps around Tyson’s wrist. Tyson’s not a small guy, and his wrists aren’t thin by any definition, but Gabe’s hand is a snug weight. “I’m just telling Tys how proud I am of my boyfriend’s success.” He looks at Tyson. “You have advertisement offers?” he asks, and Tyson honestly didn’t realize Gabe had noticed that bit of his rant.

“Seriously?” Nate turns, distracted. “That’s awesome, bro!”

Tyson gives them both a glare, then EJ for good measure. “Don’t remind me. I’m wondering if I ignore them they’ll go away.”

“You were just complaining you didn’t have enough money,” Gabe points out.

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

The point is—the point is that advertisers mean this is real, that the blog is a Thing, that it’s not just Tyson messing around anymore. That he’d have responsibility and things he had to do and people relying on him and if he left—

“Your mom is the point,” Tyson tells Gabe, who gives him a long look, then rolls his eyes.

“You love my mom.”

“Yes, she’s the best, that’s why she’s the point,” Tyson agrees. “I’d marry you just to get the family meatball recipe.”

“Was that a proposal?” Mikko asks, leaning around EJ. “Gabe, what do you say?”

“Fuck off,” Gabe mutters to him, reaching around EJ to shove at his head. “You could marry other people for that recipe,” he tells Tyson. His cheeks are red under his beard.

“But none of them are you,” Tyson says. Then adds, “I mean, I like your siblings, and I’m sure your cousins are great, but they aren’t—”

“You guys are disgusting,” Comphy informs them, throwing a pretzel at them.

Tyson catches it, shrugs, and pops it in his mouth. Gabe gives him an incredulous look.

“You should see them at home,” Josty adds. Tyson gives him a glare. This is apartment building-mate betrayal. Name buddies betrayal. Something betrayal. “It’s this but they’re cuddling on the couch.”

“I don’t cuddle!”

“Tyson’s very cuddly,” Gabe says, and there’s mischief in his eyes. “Like a little teddy bear.”

“Saying you like bears, Landeskog?” Tyson asks, and Nate chokes on his beer as Gabe throws his head back and laughs. It’s a sight, like it always is.

“You better hope I don’t,” he tells Tyson, which is fair. Tyson will forever be caught in between stereotypes, which he admits with a tragic sigh and a,

“This is why it’s so hard to get laid.”

“It would be,” Nate corrects quickly, and Tyson gives him an appreciative shoulder bump. Nate’s got his back. The rest of them are all just laughing at him, but Nate’s a bro. 

“That must not be true,” Josty puts in, his cheeks a little red. Tyson grins at him.

“Thank you. See, someone believes in me.” Tyson toasts him with an empty glass in the hand Gabe’s still not holding—well, the wrist Gabe isn’t.

“I just—I wouldn’t think you’d have any trouble,” Josty mutters. He’s definitely turning red now. It’s pretty cute.

Gabe’s hand is tightening around Tyson’s wrist. “Really?” he drawls, sharp, and Tyson rolls his eyes.

“Okay, time for another drink. Gabe, want something?”

“I’ll go with you,” he announces, and gets up when Tyson does.

“Anyone? But mainly Josty, because he’s the only one on my nice list?”

“Hey!”

“And Nate,” Tyson adds, which gets Nate to drop the offended look.

“I’m good, though,” Nate says, and Josty raises his half-full beer in response.

“The rest of you don’t get anything,” Tyson informs them, and heads to the bar. Gabe’s close behind him, but Tyson doesn’t pay him any attention while he’s elbowing his way close.

He orders for both of them once he’s there, then turns to face Gabe. “Seriously? Lay off Josty.”

“I’m not—”

“Gabe.”

“He has a crush on you,” Gabe mutters, almost too low to be heard over the noise of the bar, especially as he’s talking to his crossed forearms. “And he knows—or he thinks—we’re together. He’s expecting me to do that.”

Tyson doesn’t bother denying it, either that maybe Josty has a little crush, or that his sexuality is such that he would have a crush on Tyson. “If he does, it’s just because I’m like, mentoring his coming out, apparently. Lay off.”

“It would be weirder if I didn’t—”

“He’s just a kid, and he’s a good kid so he’s not going to say anything while he thinks we’re together, and he’s actually into Comphy.” Tyson raises his eyebrows as Gabe glares. Gabe might be stubborn, and possessive even of people he’s not really dating, and he’s got the condescending stare down, but Tyson’s been staring down guys bigger than him for years, and he knows Gabe.

“Yeah, okay,” Gabe mutters again, and looks away. “Fine.”

“I’m right? Is that what you just said?”

“Not even a little.”

“I think it is.” Tyson turns to the bar to get their drinks, but when he turns back to go to their table, Gabe’s still there, close enough to cage him in. “Um. You’re very close.”

Gabe takes his beer from Tyson’s hand. “I’ll lay off Josty, but in return, you’ve got to do me a favor.”

“You shouldn’t need a favor to be a nice person,” Tyson retorts, but sighs. “Fine, shoot. What is it? If it’s a creepy sex thing, I’m probably not doing it.”

“Probably?” Gabe sputters, as the woman next to them gives Tyson a weird look and scoots away. Tyson shrugs. Gabe’s really hot. “Anyway. So. I was saying, the partner heard about the podcast, and, long story short, there’s a firmwide party next week, and plus ones are welcome, and you’re coming with me.”

Tyson pauses. “I am?”

“Well, they think you’re my boyfriend, and so when they asked if you were coming, what was I supposed to say?” Gabe’s voice has taken on that condescending, let’s all be reasonable tone that Tyson really hates. “I’m a lawyer, Tys. I can’t say that I’m casually breaking a contract by lying about the guy I’m living with. That’s really going to impress the partners.”

“Yeah no duh.” Tyson snaps back. “You knew that risk when you started this. I never said—”

“I know. I just—I didn’t think it would get quite this far.” Gabe’s basically pouting now, and he’s close enough that Tyson can’t see anything else. “But it has, so—come to the party.”

“Are you sure you want me to?” Tyson asks. “I can say I’m busy or something. Family emergency. Then it won’t be weird when this is over, and I won’t embarrass you in front of your colleagues. I know I’m not—”

“Don’t be an idiot.” Someone coming to the bar pushes past Gabe, which pushes him into Tyson, enough that Tyson fumbles his glass of sangria and only just manages to save it, and that now Gabe’s close enough that Tyson can feel his body heat. “You won’t embarrass anyone.”

“Now we both know that’s just not true. I’m definitely going to embarrass at least myself.”

Gabe snorts, but he doesn’t back away, and he’s just—there, being so _Gabe_. Tyson doesn’t know how he’s supposed to handle this shit. “It’ll work out. You’ll be great.”

“You say that now,” Tyson tells his hands, but they both know he’s going to come. He just can’t look Gabe in the eye when he says shit like that.

“Yeah, I do.” Gabe’s smiling, just a little, that certain smile that Tyson doesn’t see with anyone else. “And also, it’s at the Musket Room, I think it has a Michelin star.”

“Wait, seriously?” Tyson’s head comes up fast enough that if Gabe had slightly worse reflexes, it might have broken his nose. “Why didn’t you lead with that?”

Gabe’s still smiling, but he rolls his eyes. “Maybe because I wanted my fake boyfriend to do something for me, instead of food?”

“You say that like it can’t be both,” Tyson throws back. “I see this as a win-win. You get a charming date who will definitely get you out of awkward situations by spilling something, and I get to try a Michelin star restaurant. Win-win.”

“Uh-huh,” Gabe agrees, but he finally takes a step back. Tyson’s breathing suddenly feels deeper. “Seems like it.”

“But you still have to lay off Josty. And clean the shower.”

“Hey!” Gabe yelps as Tyson pushes past him. “No, that was not the deal, Tyson!”

///

Tyson looks around the hall, counting. Four kids left—one whose nanny is currently signing him out, one sitting patiently with a book in her hand on the bench, and then—Tyson bites his lip. The twins.

“Hey, guys,” he says, going over to where they’re waiting. Melissa’s been looking like she’s a second away from tears all day, though Elena looks more okay. “Do you know who’s picking you up today?”

They’re not unheard of late, whoever they are—it’s only half an hour after school’s out—but with Melissa being so on edge, and their current family situation, Tyson’s not loving it. He remembers a little too well what it felt like to be sitting alone, waiting to be picked up, because it was too chaotic at home for someone to be there on time.

Elena shakes her head. “Mommy usually does.”

“Daddy won’t,” Melissa mutters. “Daddy never does.”

“Daddy does sometimes,” Tyson points out gently, because their dad has picked them up before, though only once so far this year, and he didn’t look pleased about it—apparently their nanny had a last minute family emergency and so he’d had to leave work early.

“He won’t!” Melissa snaps, louder. “And we won’t get to go here and we’ll have to go to school all the way somewhere else and I don’t wanna leave!”

“Leave?” Tyson echoes, and then he gets his shit together. “You’ve got to leave school eventually—you can’t sleep here!”

It doesn’t even get a smile out of Melissa, though Elena giggles, and looks hopefully at her sister, like she’s hoping she’ll giggle too. “Daddy said we’d be better going to a—” Melissa looks at her sister for help.

“A private school,” Elena parrots, like she’s heard it before. “It’ll make us sussfell.”

“Successful,” Tyson corrects. He very carefully keeps what he really thinks about that argument to himself. It’s not like it’s not one he’s heard before. There are plenty of Upper West Side parents who’d rather Spence than a magnet.

Melissa’s not listening. “But I don’t wanna go I wanna stay here and play with Maria and Natasha and you and I—”

“Okay, kiddo.” Tyson cuts her off before she can get a full head of steam going. He does not want to deal with a tantrum here. “Let’s go call your mom to see what’s happening, and then we can figure out your life plan, okay? No one’s going anywhere right now.”

“But I don’t wanna go!” Melissa’s getting louder, and Elena’s eyes are big and nervous like she’s waiting for the tantrum too, and the other kid left is looking at them, and Tyson needs to cut this off.

“Number one or number two?” he asks in a joking tone, and Melissa blinks at him, confused. “Okay, up, let’s go to the office to get the phone,” he says, and holds out a hand to each girl. They’re both about to take them when—

“Carmela!” Elena yells, and lets go of Tyson to throw herself at her nanny.

“I am so sorry,” the nanny, a middle aged Latina woman who Tyson’s always liked, because she laughs at his jokes and likes to chat as much as he does, “There was some miscommunication between the parents, they...” she shakes her head. “Do you have everything, girls?”

“Yeah, I—”

“I’ve got to go potty,” Elena pipes up, and Carmela sighs, and looks at Tyson.

“Yeah, she can go here,” Tyson decides.

“Do you have to go too, Mellie?” Carmela asks, and Melissa seems to think for a second, then nods.

“Of course,” Carmela says to Tyson. “Go and come right back!”

The girls scamper off, Melissa apparently sufficiently distracted from her tantrum.

Tyson side eyes Carmela as they wait. The other girl’s still here too, but she’s older and Tyson knows that her mom picks her up and sometimes gets screwed by the cross-town bus. Tyson’s not as worried.

“So.” Tyson gives her another sidelong look. “Melissa said something about leaving?”

Carmela sighs. “She did? She’s not happy about it.”

Tyson doesn’t blame her. The first time’s always hard. So’s the second. And the third. “Are they, then?”

Carmela glances around, but there’s no one there. Tyson looks as gossip-worthy as possible. “The custody battle isn’t looking good for Mrs. Simon.”

“So—their dad is going to get them?” Tyson asks blankly.

Carmela shrugs. “I hope not, but…he’s got a larger income. I’ve seen this before.” She glances around again, lowers her voice. “And he’s white.”

“But—” But their dad’s never shown any interest in them. But their dad’s going to rip them away from what they’re used to for some bullshit idea of name brand. But—Tyson can still hear Melissa’s wail.

Carmela’s expression is weary. “It’s how it goes, with these families.” It’s matter of fact, in her voice. It’s bullshit. “I just hope he keeps me on. The girls need some stability.”

“That’s—” Tyson’s choking on it.

He’s still choking on it as he forces out smiles for the girls, and bids Carmela goodbye. As he gets the other girl out to her mom. As he goes back to his classroom, and stares at his lesson plans. He just—

Tyson’s not good at being angry. Being angry is usually pointless. It doesn’t _do_ anything. Things happen and being angry about it isn’t going to help. So now—he stares at his screen. Katie had had to run right after school, so he can’t talk to her. He would text Nate, but Nate’s in class all day and then he’s got journal meetings all evening and he’s been stressed enough about that, Tyson’s not going to make him worry about Tyson too. And he can’t text Jamie, Jamie’ll tell Katie and Tyson’s not sure what Carmela said he’s supposed to share.

Fuck everything. The girls don’t deserve this. Their mom doesn’t deserve this, for kicking that piece of shit to the curb. Their dad definitely doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t know what he’s getting and probably only wants it because he doesn’t want his ex-wife to have it. To have them.

_Fuck everything and especially the legal system, I blame you_ , he texts Gabe, and then gets up and stuffs his laptop into his bag.

He’s on the train when Gabe texts back. _What happened? Did you stub your toe on a police line again?_

_The wrong parent is getting one of my students in the divorce it’s so unfair_ , Tyson texts back, not in the mood for banter. It just goes out as his phone loses service. By the time they get to the next station, Tyson has four texts.

_Fucking hell—the twins?_

_Are you okay?_

_I’m stuck here until ~6 but I can pick up Momofuku on my way home if you want_

_Have you called Nate yet?_

Tyson snorts despite himself. Sometimes Gabe knows him too well.

_He’s busy. I’m getting the ice cream myself._

There are another couple texts by the time he gets out of the subway—

_You’ll need more_

_Do you want dinner? Dumplings?_

Honestly Tyson does. It’s a good idea. _I’ll order it._

_*I’ll* order it_ , Gabe replies. Tyson doesn’t need to hear him to know he’s using his captain voice.

Tyson should probably argue. He should point out that just because he’s in a shitty mood, it doesn’t mean that Gabe has to leave work early, or get him food, or—anything. They’re roommates. They’re friends. Tyson would do this for Nate, of course, because he’s Nate, but this is above and beyond, really. Tyson should point it out.

But he is in a shitty mood, and he just wants to lie on the couch and eat ice cream and watch superhero movies until he reminds himself that there’s good in the world.

So he does. He feels guilty, halfway through Iron Man, and opens up his computer so maybe he can detox by thinking about food—that’s how it started, anyway, as him keeping a record of the places he’s been so he could find them again if he came back, as a way to destress—but he sees the message count and the followers count and the comments and he just—he can’t. Fuck everything.

He’s lying on the couch rage eating Hagen-Daaz when Gabe comes in, his arms laden with bags.

“Don’t start,” Tyson warns. He knows what he looks like. He really doesn’t care. He had a shitty day and he doesn’t want to deal with it.

Gabe comes in without taking off his shoes to set his bags down on the table. “I won’t,” he says, suspiciously mild. Tyson considers trying to figure out what’s up, but instead, he takes another bite of mint chocolate chip. He’s going to have to spend so much time at the gym to work this off, and he really doesn’t give a fuck.

There are more footsteps, then—a hand, brushing over the back of Tyson’s neck, and Gabe coming around to stand in front of Tyson. He’s still in his suit with the jacket off, his sleeves rolled up, and his hair a little messy, like he spent some time with his fingers in it. His shirt’s even still on. He must have been in a hurry. “Are you okay?”

“Sure.” Tyson takes another bite of ice cream. He just wanted to go home and wallow a little. Not—have Gabe here. Looking all warm.

“Bullshit.” Gabe knocks on Tyson’s feet until he moves them enough that Gabe can sit down on the other side of the couch. Tyson, to be a shit, brings his feet back up, into Gabe’s lap. He expects it to make Gabe move, or shove them off. Instead, Gabe wraps a hand around his ankle.

“If you know so much about how I feel, why’d you ask?” Tyson demands.

“Because maybe I hoped you’d tell me,” Gabe retorts.

“If you’re going to be shitty, I’ll just go—” Tyson makes to get up, but Gabe’s hand tightens on his ankle.

“No, I didn’t—” he shakes his head, and goes quiet.

They watch the TV in silence. Or, Tyson watches and tries not to think about it; whenever Tyson looks over, Gabe’s watching him instead of the TV, and his fingers have started to rub over Tyson’s ankle, something almost gentle. It’s—Tyson isn’t thinking about it, so he turns back to the TV.

He can’t concentrate on that either, really. There’s Gabe’s hand on him, but there’s—god, the girls, and Melissa’s _I don’t want to go!_ and Tyson knows, oh does he know. No matter how many times you do it, how many times you start out as the new kid and make friends and then have to leave again, it always fucking sucks. Especially at that age. Especially the first time.

At least they’ll have each other, he thinks, which is something, but Tyson had his sister too, and she’s great and he loves her but it’s not like it made up for everything.

“Do you want something to eat?” Gabe asks. Tyson looks over at him. He’s still watching Tyson, and he’s got his concentrating face on, all earnest and intent. “I got fried chicken from that place you like on 28th, or I also picked up dumplings, and—”

“From where?”

“Where do you think?” Gabe rolls his eyes. “I do listen to you talk, Tys.”

“News to me,” Tyson retorts, but the rumbling anger in him is fighting with the fact that it’s hard to be snarky when Gabe went a good bit out of his way to pick up his favorite food because he was having a shitty day. “You didn’t have to, though. Ice cream’s fine.”

“You’re eating something,” Gabe decides, and lifts up Tyson’s legs so he can get out from under them. Tyson takes another bite of ice cream. If Gabe wants food, he can get it.

Then Gabe’s back, but not with food. “Here.” Gabe holds out a bottle, taps the hand Tyson’s holding the ice cream with. “You need it.”

Tyson eyes the bottle. “I don’t like beer.” He is not in the mood to get into this either—he knows what he likes, he doesn’t like the taste of hops, been there done that got the t-shirt.

“Just try it, I think you’ll like it.”

“We’ve played this game before. I don’t like it, you laugh, it’s funny. Can we skip it?”

“It’s not that game.” Gabe taps Tyson’s hand with the bottle again. “Come on. Trust me.”

Gabe’s got his stubborn face on, and Tyson doesn’t have the energy to argue. He takes the bottle, sips. The taste of cherry explodes on his tongue, sweet and not hoppy at all. “Oh, this is nice.”

“Right?” Gabe grins, smug. “It’s cherry beer. I thought it would be fruity enough for you.”

“Nothing’s fruity enough for me,” Tyson tells him. Gabe snorts, and Tyson shrugs. It’s not like that’s wrong either. “Where’d you get this?”

Gabe shrugs this time, then turns around without answering. Tyson takes another sip. It is nice. Nice of Gabe to pick it up for him. Alcohol isn’t his usual bad mood medication of choice, but he’ll take anything.

Gabe’s back a minute later, setting takeout containers and plates on the coffee table. Tyson eyes him. It’s more food than even he would order, like Gabe panicked and got everything he could think of. It barely fits on the coffee table. Honestly, it would probably be better if they just got it from the kitchen, even if they ate here. Gabe usually insists on that shit.

“Dinner delivered to the couch?” Tyson points out, raising his eyebrows. “This is good service.”

“No delivery fee, even,” Gabe tells him, and sits back down on the couch. He pushes one of the plates over to Tyson.

“No? Are you expecting a tip, then?”

“Yeah, that’s how I really make my money, getting delivery tips. Who needs big law?”

“That’s what I thought,” Tyson agrees. He takes some chicken, some mashed potatoes, and half the dumplings.

Or, about half. “How is there an odd number?” he asks. “You get eight an order.”

“Magic.”

“Gabe.”

“I told them you were having a shitty day and they gave you one more.”

“Did you promise your first born child?” Tyson asks. He and the people at his favorite dumpling have a good rapport, it’s true, but not extra dumpling rapport. Gabe definitely flirted his way into this. Tyson’s not complaining. “A date with the owner? A date with you is worth more than a dumpling, Gabe. You’re worth at least like, a full order.”

“A full order of dumplings? I know what that’s worth to you, that’s flattering.” Gabe smiles, and pushes the extra dumpling onto Tyson’s plate.

Tyson looks at it. Then at him. “Are you okay?”

“What?” Gabe makes a very unconvincing innocent face. “What do you mean?”

“You’re being really nice to me.”

“I can be nice to you.”

“You gave me the extra dumpling. And brought me food _to the couch_.  And it’s early and you’re home and not even working—you can work, if you need to. I can go watch TV and sulk in bed, and you can—”

“Tyson.”

“You can work out here. That would probably work better. I don’t need all this, I can just—”

“Shut up.”

“Hey, I’m trying to—”

“Shut up and let me take care of you,” Gabe snaps, his cheeks red. Tyson’s mouth clicks closed.

Then, “What?” he asks.

Gabe’s definitely red, but his chin’s up, like he’s daring Tyson to disagree. “You had a really bad day. Let me make it better.”

“You don’t have to try so hard to make it better,” Tyson tells him, a little floored. Gabe can be sweet, but this is a lot. “I don’t need all this, I’m fine with just my ice cream. And like, if you wanted to keep rubbing my feet, that was nice.”

“God, Tyson.” Gabe’s smile isn’t really happy, though it is at least a little fond. “You always—when I have shitty days you make them a lot better, okay? I’m trying to do that back.”

“I do?”

Gabe sighs. “Of course you do. You’re always taking care of me—of us. Of everyone.”

“I can barely take care of myself,” Tyson points out. He’s definitely going even redder than Gabe was.

“So someone else talked Josty through his life? Makes sure law school isn’t too much for Nate? Makes sure I…”

It’s too much, and Tyson looks down at his plate. It’s not like he does anything special. He just did what anyone else would do. Did.

And anyway, it doesn’t matter. He might be able to get Nate to have some fun, to give Josty some simple advice, but…

“Tyson,” Gabe says, soft, urging, earnest, and Tyson looks up, and he’s—he’s just so Gabe, solid and capable and it’s been eight years and he’s still here. “Tell me?”

“The divorce would be enough,” Tyson says, because he can’t hold it in any more. “That can fuck a kid up. But then the nanny told me today that it looks like the dad’s getting custody, and he’s—” _I don’t want to go!_ “I don’t know why he even wants them, he’s never seemed like he cares about them and they don’t want to go with him—Melissa doesn’t even like it the few times he’s picked her up—and he’s going to take them to a different school and they’re way too young and it’s such bullshit and just because he’s rich and white and the mom’s not the court’s going to screw the girls over and make them _leave_ and give them to their shitty dad and—”

“Do you actually think he’s abusive?” Gabe cuts Tyson off. Tyson takes a breath, partly because he’d forgotten to in most of that sentence, and partly to think. Gabe’s softness has faded, and now he’s focused. Intent. Like he got on the ice sometimes. Like he gets sometimes when he’s working at home. Gabe on the hunt.

Tyson shakes his head. “Not physically, and I don’t think even emotionally, really. Nothing actionable. I’ve been looking for signs, and I can’t see anything. He’s just a shitty person and a bad dad, but that’s not illegal.”

“Okay.” Gabe nods. “I don’t really know family law, but I’ve got a law school friend who works in family court, and I’ll ask her if there’s anything you can do.”

Tyson blinks. It hadn’t even occurred to him. “Something I can do?”

“Yeah. I think you can write a letter at least to the judge, as an expert or something. I’ll check. Elena’s in Katie’s class, right?” Tyson nods. “Maybe both of you can. You’ll need to talk to the school, see if there’s any conflict, but the parents aren’t paying you, so I wouldn’t think so.” Gabe purses his lips, thinking. “Or even if there is, maybe you could file it in your personal capacity? I’ll check. Does the mom have a lawyer?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll see if Cam knows anyone, she might know someone who’ll do it pro bono.” Gabe nods, like he’s put an action item on a list in his head. “It sounds like she has a good case, especially if the girls don’t want to go with their dad, so if she has someone quality to argue it—”

“And it’ll work?” Tyson asks. He hadn’t thought of any of that. That he could do something to help.

Gabe shrugs. “I can’t promise anything, but—it’ll help, at least. I can look into it.”

“You’re the best,” Tyson swears. “My very own knight in shining armor. Well, the girls’, I guess, but mine too.” Gabe grins. Hero is a good look on him. Of course. Disney prince that he is. “I could kiss you right now, wow, this is amazing.”

“I mean—”

“Just knowing there’s something to do makes it so much better.” Tyson sits up, takes another piece of chicken. As usual, the flavors burst in his mouth. He loves this place. “I knew having a lawyer around would be helpful.”

“Yeah, useful.” Gabe’s focused on Tyson now, and he’s smiling, wry and pleased and something that’s almost hopeful. “My greatest aspiration.”

“It’s a sexy look,” Tyson informs him. “Like, very Sam Seaborn.”

“You watched The West Wing?”

“Did I watch young Rob Lowe?” Tyson snorts. “Come on. Don’t be an amateur. You watched The West Wing?”

“You can’t get through law school without it.” Gabe pauses, then he’s serious. It’s not a look Tyson sees often, directed at him. “Tys, you know, whatever you need, I’m there.”

Tyson swallows. Gabe’s so much. “I know.” He does. Gabe’s always been there. Always been like that.

Gabe’s still looking at him, his eyes so very blue, so intent. Like he’s waiting for something, for Tyson to do something. Tyson’s seen Gabe like this before, but there’s something different here, in their apartment, with him post-worked rumpled and their shared dinner on the table and the TV low in the background. Gabe saying that means more here, somehow.

“That could be dangerous,” Tyson tells Gabe, with a laugh. “I’m pretty needy. Ask Nate.”

“You’re the opposite of needy.”

“Tell that to all the times Nate’s told me to shut up and stop texting him. Actually, tell that to all the times you’ve told me to shut up.”

“Just because you talk too much—”

“Are you saying that everything out of my mouth isn’t important?” Tyson asks, and sticks out his tongue. Gabe’s gaze flicks down to it, to his lips.

“I’d never say that,” Gabe says, and leans back, that intensity faded. “Now eat your dinner.”

Tyson generally refuses to do whatever Gabe orders him to do on principle, but he thinks this one he agrees with enough, so he takes a bite of the dumpling.


	6. Chapter 6

_This was such a bad idea_.

_Well, too late now to change it_.

_You don’t know that. I could just leave._

_Yeah, like you’d bail on Gabe like that._ Tyson scowls down at his phone. Nate’s not wrong, of course. Tyson’s not going to just leave Gabe in the lurch. That’d be a dick move, and Tyson’s only a dick on like, a small scale.

But it doesn’t make it any less of a bad idea. Tyson’s hovering outside the door of the restaurant where the party’s at, and he’s all dressed up like he’s supposed to be, and he is going to embarrass Gabe so badly. Maybe going in would actually be the dick move. He doesn’t want to sabotage Gabe’s career.

Tyson’s phone buzzes again, but this time it’s Gabe, not Nate. _I’m leaving now, sorry got caught up!_

_Way to abandon me_ , Tyson shoots back. _I’m going to find another lawyer to be my sugar daddy_

_I’d recommend Jason, he’s looking for a pretty young thing to spoil_

Tyson bites at his lip. _Careful, that was almost a compliment_

_Almost?_ Then, hot on its heels, _there’s no accounting for taste_

Tyson sends back the middle finger emoji.

“Hi.” Tyson looks up. There’s a woman there, about his age, wearing a dress and blazer that puts her at about the same level of formal as him. “Sorry to bother you, but are you here for the law firm thing?”

“Yes!” Tyson grins. Thank god, who looks as uncomfortable in formal wear as he is. “I am. Are you?”

“Yes. My husband’s late, though, and—”

“My boyfriend is too.” The lie rolls surprisingly easy off the tongue. “I haven’t been sure whether to go in or not.”

“Oh good, we can wait here together.” She grins back, and holds out a hand to shake. “I’m Emily.”

“Tyson.” He shakes her hand. “Lawyers, man, right? Always keeping us waiting.”

“Honestly.” She shakes her head. “He ‘got caught up’” She does finger quotes. Tyson snorts.

“So did Gabe! I mean, come on, it’s not like you’re a doctor, what got you so caught up?”

Emily chuckles. “I am a doctor, and I’m here.”

“Really? That’s awesome. What sort?”

“Oncology,” she tells him. “What do you do?”

“Oh, I’m a teacher.” Tyson shrugs. “So you definitely have better things to do than be here tonight. I mean, me, I’m here because I never turn down free food, but you—”

“Well, Bill was very persuasive,” she tells him, and where Tyson’s mind goes must show on his face—honestly, what doesn’t—because she chuckles again.

“So,” Tyson soldiers on. “Oncology. That’s cancer, right? Why that?”

They move on from careers to the woes of her commute from Park Slope and are just starting on the relative merits of Park Slope vs. Crown Heights when a tall blonde man in a suit who is not Gabe hurries up to them.

“Sorry I’m late,” he tells Emily, and leans down to drop a kiss on her cheek. “I got caught up.”

Tyson meets Emily’s eyes, and they both smirk. The guy sees it, raises his eyebrows. “What?”

“Nothing, darling.” She pats his cheek. “You’re fine. Tyson, this is Bill, my husband. Bill, this is Tyson, he’s been keeping me company.”

“Nice to meet you,” Tyson says, shaking the guys hand. “Seriously, are all the lawyers here gorgeous blondes?” he goes on, because he knew he would be an embarrassment. “Is that a requirement or something?”

Bill gives a flattered chuckle. “You’d have to ask the hiring committee. Who are you here with?”

“Well, I will be here with Gabriel Landeskog, if he ever gets here.”

Bill’s eyes light up, and he gives Tyson a second look. “Oh, you’re Gabe’s Tyson.” Okay, that’s a thing Tyson’s being described as. He can handle that. “It’s really nice to meet you at last. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Tyson sighs dramatically. “None of it was good, was it?” he asks. He can only imagine the stories Gabe tells about him. Hell, he mainly tells embarrassing stories about himself. Maybe it’s a good thing. Setting a low bar and all.

“Are you kidding?” Bill shakes his head. “I feel like I know you already. Come on, let’s go in, there were these tarts last year and I want to track them down.”

Tyson would really like to try the tarts, but—“I’ll see you inside, then.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you can come hang out with us until your boyfriend gets here,” Emily tells him.

“I do want the tarts,” Tyson agrees, and falls into pace with them as they go inside.

“Right, you’re a restaurant reviewer, right?” Bill asks, as they go upstairs to the private room. “Have you been here before?”

“No—”

“You review restaurants? I thought you were a teacher,” Emily interrupts, sounding offended.

“I am a teacher. And I have a blog.”

“And he was on a podcast about it,” Bill adds. At Tyson’s look, he grins. “Gabe wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“Let me guess, he had to show off all my babbling?” Tyson sighs, but Bill looks confused.

“No? He was so proud.”

“Oh.” Tyson looks down. That’s—it’s not like he doesn’t know Gabe’s proud of him, or whatever, it’s just that—well. It’s different to hear someone say it. That maybe Gabe doesn’t think the blog is just a silly hobby. Then they get to the top of the stairs, and—“Oh,” Tyson repeats. He may be drooling a little.

Emily grins and nods. “Yeah, they always put on a good spread. Come on, I’ll show you the pork balls, they’re the best.”

“You had me at balls,” Tyson says cheerfully, and decides to just keep going over Bill’s snort.

Somehow, Tyson getting the pork balls—which really are delicious—ends up with him chatting with Emily, Bill, and two partners and their wives—first just because Bill wanted to talk to them and then Tyson ended up getting sucked in because they were talking about something that involved Disney movies and he was all up in that. Sure, maybe they were talking about their kids and Tyson was talking about the movie he’d bullied Gabe into watching with him last week, but tomato-tomahto.

“So you’re why Gabriel knows what I’m talking about when I talk about the Inside Out?” the partner, an older man, probably in his mid-50s, with distinguished looking grey hair, asks. “He always seemed like the wrong age for it.”

“Is anyone really the wrong age for Inside Out?” Tyson replies. He snags down another one of the gazpacho spoons that a waiter brings by. They’re really good, and he doesn’t get this sort of free food every day. “It speaks to all ages, really.”

“That is Pixar’s genius, isn’t it?” the partner agrees. “It makes having a five year old easier.”

“A kid would be a good excuse to see all the movies…” Tyson considers.

Bill laughs. “Does Gabriel know that?”

Tyson shrugs. “Gabe’ll want kids because he’s stable like that,” he says, because they both know it’s true. Look at how he is with the younger guys. Gabe’s still too young, probably, but he’s a family sort of guy. Not that Tyson isn’t, maybe, and obviously he loves kids, but he’s not—he doesn’t quite know what a stationary childhood is like. “Not that we’ve talked about it or anything.”

“So how long have you and Gabriel been together?” Emily asks, in an elegant transition away from the probably awkward conversation.

“Ages, right?” Bill inserts. “He’s talked about you since we were first years.”

Tyson doesn’t react, or at least, he tries not to. “Um, not that long. I mean, we’ve been friends since college, but we only got together—” fuck, when did they say? “A few years. Since he was at the firm, at least.”

“You got together while he was at a firm? I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Well, Tyson wasn’t in med school,” Bill retorts to Emily, with a smile that makes it clear it’s an inside joke.

“What do you do?” The partner’s wife asks Tyson politely.

“I’m a teacher,” Tyson explains.

“Oh, what age?” She has a mom smile on.

“First graders.”

“That must take a lot of energy.”

“I do love naptime,” Tyson agrees, grinning. “But it’s a great age, you know? They’re so curious and they assume I know everything and puberty hasn’t complicated everything yet.”

“Did you turn Gabriel onto the family court pro bono project?” the partner asks. “He sounded very invested in it.”

“Oh, um.” The partner doesn’t look mad. “I mean, if it was—there was a mom at my school, who seemed like she was getting screwed, so I just mentioned it, and then Gabe kind of ran with it.”

“It’s a good project,” The partner goes on, and Tyson grins. Okay, good.

“Yeah, it’s—I mean, I don’t know what’s happening, but Gabe’s been great. He really cares, you know? Like, it shouldn’t be possible, because he’s hot and smart, but I just mentioned this mom and he got everything together, because he thought it was wrong.”

It gets Tyson an indulgent smile, like he gets whenever he starts talking too long. “Gabe’s certainly never been accused of being too uninvested,” Bill agrees.

“Well—”

A hand touches Tyson’s shoulder, then Tyson has a second to recognize the touch and the suit when Gabe slides in next to him. “Are you talking about me, babe?” he asks, smiling down at Tyson. He’s wearing one of his deliciously tailored navy suits, and if he was rushing to get over here it definitely doesn’t show in his appearance, or in the way he’s smiling at Tyson, like he’s so happy to see him.

“No,” Tyson tells him.

“I heard my name.”

“Only terrible things,” Tyson amends, and turns back to the group. “Gabe’s the worst. He bullies me into coming to these events then leaves me here alone.”

“I didn’t bully—”

“He’s way too attractive, it’s unfair. His head is so big, I can’t buy him hats.”

“When have you ever wanted to buy me a hat?” Gabe asks, incredulous. Tyson gives him his best _duh_ look.

“Well, you wouldn’t know, because I can’t.”

“It would be a really bad present, I don’t wear hats.”

“Yeah, because they won’t fit.”

“Maybe my head is this big because it’s never been caged in by a hat.”

“No, I think it’s just your ego,” Tyson retorts, and grins at him.

Gabe rolls his eyes. “Pay no attention to him,” he tells the group.

“Not even when he was talking about how great you were?” Bill asks, and Gabe glances down at Tyson, quick.

“He’s lying, I would never say that,” Tyson says, straight-faced, and Gabe laughs, his face lighting up.

“Do you need a drink?” he asks, instead. Tyson shrugs.

“I’ll come with you. It was great talking to you,” he tells the partner, who’s watching them indulgently.

“Nice to meet you, Tyson,” he agrees, then turns to Gabe. “Did you—”

“The memo is with the DC partners,” Gabe replies. “I had one comment left in, but we can resolve it all at once.”

“Great.”

“Now that’s done,” his wife says with a hand on his arm, “Don’t neglect your partner anymore, Gabriel. Go have fun.”

“Yes ma’am!” Tyson salutes, and she laughs and the partner smiles and Tyson nods at Emily and Bill before Gabe rolls his eyes but his hand is on the small of Tyson’s back as he leads him away towards the bar.

“I really am sorry for abandoning you,” Gabe starts, as soon as they’re out of earshot. “I got caught up—”

“Yeah, you said, it’s fine.” Tyson waves it away. “I can take care of myself.”

Gabe’s smile twists, does something weird. “I know.”

“Anyway, I owe you. For the Simons thing.”

Gabe shakes his head. He’s got his earnest look on. “You don’t owe me anything.” Like it’s just normal for people to do that sort of thing for someone. Like he’s not some sort of prince charming.

“Shut up and take my gratitude,” Tyson informs him. “And use it to go get me a drink, come on. You can tell me who I need to not talk to while I’m here so I won’t embarrass you out of a job.”

Gabe snorts. “I guess there’s no hope in asking you not to embarrass me?”

“I mean, let’s be honest, that’s not going to happen unless you gag me.”  Gabe chokes. Tyson has a brief second of actually registering what he said and thinking about it—of Gabe’s hand over his mouth, of him trying not to be loud as Gabe’s body weighed him down—then he moves on. “And I don’t think that’s really the vibe you’re going for here.”

“Yeah, probably not.” Gabe leans over the bar, orders a gin and tonic for him and grabs the fruity looking cocktail for Tyson, passing it over. He smirks as their fingers brush. “Not in public, at least.”

Tyson’s _definitely_ red now. “Very Christian Grey of you,” he retorts, and Gabe’s offended face is a sight to behold.

“Take that back!”

“Nope, I’m seeing the Christian Grey vibes for sure,” Tyson doubles down, and Gabe pouts and keeps trying to convince him otherwise until Gabe eases them back into a group of other associates.

It’s—weird. Or maybe not weird, because it’s easy. The line between hanging out with Gabe’s law school friends because Gabe’s mixing friend groups and hanging out with Gabe’s colleagues as Gabe’s boyfriend is apparently very thin, and mainly consists of Gabe constantly touching him, little easy check in touches like a hand on his back or a touch to his side or just their shoulders brushing as they talk, Gabe curled in towards him like he’s oriented that way. Tyson tries to reciprocate, though he doesn’t think he’s as good at it and he’s not as handsy even when he’s in relationships. But he touches and he checks in and he talks up Gabe and he tries to act natural when Gabe’s arm wraps around him, casual and easy and just the slightest bit possessive in a way that’s hotter than it should be.

It’s all pretty easy at the reception, because Gabe’s trying to impress the partners and Tyson drifts with him, nodding when he thinks he’s supposed to and joking and getting some laughs. But then there’s apparently an afterparty for the associates, and Gabe loosens his tie and it’s as obscene as it always is, and that means Tyson needs to have another drink.

He gets another cocktail from the bar, then slides into the booth with Gabe, Emily, Bill, and the some other associates. It’s a big booth, but somehow Tyson’s still close to Gabe. They’re still pretending. Gabe’s hand is on his thigh, even as he’s still talking to Bill about some case they’re working on.

He reaches up to loosen his tie, because fuck suits. But maybe he’s drunk or maybe he’s just himself, because somehow he tugs and it just gets tighter. He tugs again.

“Wow, babe. Smooth.” Gabe’s hands are over his now, and then they’re moving Tyson’s hands away and Gabe is leaning in close, to loosen Tyson’s tie. His hair is golden, right next to Tyson.

“Shut up. Just because I’m not a suit.”

“You still wear ties to work,” Gabe points out. He’s untangled the tie, but he’s still leaned in close, and his voice is quiet, like it’s trapped between them. If he was someone else, Tyson might think they were close enough to kiss.

“My dancing cupcakes tie is very different than this.”

“I’ll say.” Gabe makes a face, because Tyson’s fairly certain his ties offend Gabe on a spiritual level.

“My kids like it.”

“They’re six.”

“And they have good taste.”

“No one has good taste at six.”

“So you didn’t come out of the womb in skintight jeans and sweaters?” Tyson grins. Gabe’s still just there, and sitting they’re almost the same height and he’s just smiling at Tyson. “Did you go through a bad hair phase? Are there _pictures_?”

“No,” Gabe says, too fast. Tyson laughs delightedly.

“There are! I’m asking Bea next time she comes.”

“She won’t give you anything,” Gabe insists, like twin loyalty would outdo the urge to humiliate her brother.

“Your sister loves me,” he says, waving away that concern. Tyson doesn’t know Beatrice that well, but he has a sister and he’s pretty sure nothing would overwhelm the change to embarrass him. Also they really did get along last time they met, even if it wasn’t for very long. She was like a female, just as hot, but somehow sharper version of her brother. Tyson liked her, even if she looked at him like she knew something he didn’t.

Gabe smiles at him now, and it’s not his know-it-all smile, but it still feels a little like he knows something Tyson doesn’t. “Maybe, but not more than me.”

“No, but that doesn’t have anything to do with embarrassing you.”

“How’d you make it this long without baby pictures coming out?” Bill asks. He gives Emily a playful look. “I think the first time my mom met Emily, it was all over.”

“By keeping him far away from my parents,” Gabe says at the same time Tyson tells Bill,

“He hasn’t.”

Gabe didn’t look away from Tyson, but his eyebrows go up. “I haven’t?” he asks. Tyson shrugs.

“You’ll never know.”

“Tyson…” Gabe drags his name out, a warning like the glint in his eye. Tyson swallows. Gabe on the hunt is always a look that hits him right in the gut.

“You shouldn’t have introduced me to Gustav.”

“How did he get any?” Gabe demands. “And that was—” years ago, he doesn’t say, when his childhood best friend had come to New York from Sweden. He’d been pretty great, a lot more easy going than Gabe but with a similar sense of humor and a wicked smile. Tyson had definitely almost hooked up with him until Gabe had made it pretty clear he wouldn’t be cool with that, which like, Tyson got. It could have been weird.

“We still text.”

“You what?” Gabe sputters.

“We text. He found some last summer and sent them to me. Want to see?” Tyson asks, pulling out his pone.

“Yes please!” Bill inserts, but Gabe’s hand closes around Tyson’s wrist before he can do anything with his phone.

“No,” he says, stern.

“Come on, Landesnerd, have some fun,” Tyson retorts, and Gabe rolls his eyes.

“I can get your photos too,” he points out.

“How?” Tyson asks. Gabe’s maybe met his sister briefly, but she isn’t in town often; she’s settled down in Denver, where she’d spent most of her high school years, and it’s near enough where their parents ended up that Tyson goes to visit them more often.

“Nate must have some, right?”

“Nate wouldn’t betray me like that,” Tyson tells Gabe. He’s pretty sure. Like, ninety-eight percent. Maybe less if Gabe’s smirk stays. “And anyway, it’s not like the pictures could actually embarrass me. Like, the comparison is way less. I was awkward then, I’m awkward now. You, it would feel great to know you weren’t always charming and gorgeous.” Tyson sighs and looks at Emily. “He was hot when he was twenty, it was super unfair.”

“Aw, Tys. You were cute then.”

“Just then?” Tyson demands, and Gabe chuckles, though he’s a little red.

“I mean…”

“At least I don’t have many photos.”

“Why not?” Emily asks.

“My family moved around a lot as a kid, we didn’t tend to keep albums or anything.” Tyson shrugs. “I mean, my mom has some, for sure. But we pared it down.”

“Army kid?” Bill asks. Tyson shakes his head.

“Hockey brat,” he replies. “My dad was in the NHL, but he wasn’t franchise or anything, so we ended up all over.”

“That’s so interesting.” Emily leans in. “I’ve basically only ever lived in New York. Where was your favorite place to live?”

“Well, I finished high school near Vancouver, that was fun.” Tyson starts describing just how beautiful Vancouver is, because it’s still the prettiest place he ever lived—definitely better than Pittsburgh, which he just remembers being cold, or San Antonio, which was too hot, or all the other places he’s gone. Gabe’s arm slings around his waist as he talks, except for where he has to insert commentary about how Tyson never quite managed to drop the Vancouver accent.

They get home late and more than a little tipsy, which is maybe why Tyson bypasses the kitchen completely and goes to throw himself down onto the bed.

“That was fun,” he says. “I like your colleagues. They’re cool.”

“They all loved you. I’m already under orders to bring you to more events. Apparently you make them fun.”

“Well I’m pretty lovable,” Tyson agrees. Gabe beams down at him, coming up next to the bed. He looks even taller from down here, all smiling and broad and handsome, and Tyson can’t help but look at his hands as they start on the buttons of his shirt. “Also, hey, go us. Fooled them. We are so good at this shit.”

Gabe glances down at his hands. “Yeah.” He pauses, then. “Do you seriously still text with Gustav?”

“Yeah, sometimes.” Tyson props himself up enough that he can take his tie off properly. “We’re friends.”

Gabe makes a small questioning noise. Tyson rolls his eyes. “Just friends, Gabe, seriously? I can actually not sleep with someone.”

“I know, I didn’t—” Gabe shakes his head. He’s still not looking at Tyson. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“How did you mean it, then?” Tyson demands, and sits up the rest of the way. It sort of makes it so Gabe’s standing in between his legs, which is a look, but he’s going to deal with that after he gets pissed off at Gabe for calling him a slut.

“He just never said he talked to you.”

“It’s not like we _talk_. We just text sometimes.” Tyson tilts his head. “Are you jealous of me for like, stealing your childhood friend? Because I can arrange a playdate with you and Jamie, if that would make you feel better.”

“I’m not jealous,” Gabe mutters. Tyson kicks him, because that’s a lie if he ever heard one. “I just didn’t know.”

“You don’t know everything about me.”

“I know that.” Gabe looks up, and his eyes are dark and there’s still that hint of anger that puts Tyson on edge in a way that isn’t necessarily bad. “I never said I didn’t.”

“Then why are you being pissy?”

“I’m not being pissy, Tyson.” Tyson kicks him again. “Stop kicking me.”

“Not until you stop being pissy,” Tyson retorts, and kicks him again. Gabe leans down and puts his hand on his knee to stop him. Tyson know it’s just to stop him, but—Tyson’s tipsy and Gabe’s hand is big and hot on his knee as he leans over Tyson on a bed and really Tyson can’t be blamed for the crossed wires in his brain, or how his breath hitches in his throat.

Gabe freezes. With his hand on Tyson. Which doesn’t really help anything, arousal wise.

“Tys…” Gabe’s voice comes out quiet. A warning? Tyson doesn’t know.

“I’ll stop,” Tyson promises. Gabe nods. He doesn’t move. The bedroom feels very small. “Gabe…”

“Tyson,” Gabe repeats, and his eyes are somehow dark and bright all at once, and he’s looking at Tyson like—like he’s waiting. Tyson’s seen that expression before, though he couldn’t have pinpointed when.

Something buzzes. It takes Tyson a second to register it’s his phone.

Gabe’s still looking at him, but Tyson blinks, and looks away to pick up his phone. _Did you survive?_ Nate’s asked. _Or did you die of embarrassment and/or Gabe cut his losses and smothered you himself?_

Tyson snorts. _Survived_ , he replies. _Jury’s still out on Gabe._

Gabe lets out a breath, then he straightens, and turns to the closet.

_He’s too smart to strangle you at home though. He’d be the prime suspect._ Tyson snorts again. Gabe hums questioningly.

“Nate thinks you’re too smart to kill me here.”

“Why am I killing you at all?” Gabe asks. He’s stripped off his shirt and is working on his pants, and Tyson is tipsy and only human so he has to look.  Gabe’s never minded him looking, anyway.

“To make me stop being embarrassing to the partners.” _Also maybe I’d fight him off._

“Stop it,” Gabe snaps, and Tyson looks at the set of his shoulders, even though he still can’t see his face.

“Stop what?”

_Hah, yeah right._

_Hey!_

“Stop calling yourself embarrassing. You were great tonight.” Gabe says it like it’s a fact, like he’d fight anyone who says otherwise, and Tyson can feel his face go red. It’s not like he doesn’t know Gabe likes him, but—well, he doesn’t say it often. “You were the best fake boyfriend ever, and I told you, everyone loved you, and you made Backstrom laugh and I didn’t even think that was possible but he smiled afterwards and that’s—do you even know what you’re like, Tyson?”

“I talk too much?” It comes out higher pitched than Tyson had expected, but that was a lot of nice things all at once. “People find me funny?”

“Funny, sure.” Gabe turns and stalks back to the bed. Tyson doesn’t even want to know what his face is doing. “You’re fucking irresistible, and you know it, so just—stop.”

“Irresistible?” Tyson echoes, laughing, because what else is he supposed to do. It’s either that or get a really inconvenient boner. “If I was irresistible, I wouldn’t have had to beg you to move in with me, I’d have had an actual—”

Gabe makes a noise like a frustrated growl, and changes course to go storm off to the bathroom. It’s probably for the best; it gives Tyson a little while to recuperate and will himself into some semblance of calm before he changes for bed.

They pass in the hall to the bathroom, but apparently Gabe’s still pissy because he doesn’t really look at Tyson, and by the time Tyson gets back from the bathroom, he’s already in bed, and sprawled a little like he’s trying to be annoying and take up more than his fair share of the bed.

Tyson sits down on his side, and shoves at Gabe’s limbs until there’s space for him. Gabe’s got a lot of them, but it’s a big bed. Gabe fights him more than a little, but in the end he lets himself be shoved, and even sits up to turn off the lights.

Normally Tyson would just fall asleep, but this time he keeps thinking—of _irresistible_ and Gabe’s hand on his thigh and how Gabe had beamed at him and Gabe warm and solid next to him, even if they aren’t touching. “Hey, Gabe.” He pokes at Gabe’s arm when he doesn’t reply. He knows he’s awake. “Gabe.”

“What?” Still pissy, then.

“Just. Thanks.”

Gabe lets out a long sigh, and rolls over, so he’s facing Tyson. They should take a picture and market the sight of Gabe’s head on his pillow, his eyes sleepy and hair messy, to some ad campaign, because talk about irresistible, but also Tyson wants to not let anyone else see it.

“You’re welcome,” he says, soft and warm. “Now go to sleep.”

Tyson nods, and for all he can remember, does.

///

Tyson’s alarm goes off hellishly early, as usual. It’s loud enough that it cuts through his deep sleep and the beginnings of a mild hangover, and he flails out to quiet it before Gabe can wake up and start bitching at him.

Once the tones stop, Tyson flops back into bed and tries to will the hangover away. There’s very little that’s worse than dealing with six-year-olds hungover. He’s done it before and he expects he’ll do it again, but he really doesn’t want to.

Gabe makes a low noise next to him, and Tyson rolls over to see if he’s awake. He’s not—he’s on his stomach, sprawled out and taking up too much room and too many blankets, as normal, and one hand is thrown out towards Tyson. Tyson strongly considers taking a picture of him, with the pillow crease across his cheek and all his polish gone, but it sounds like a lot of effort. And also, maybe, it’s kind of cute, even if it’s unfair. Tyson knows he looks gross, because he always does when he wakes up.

As he looks, Gabe’s eyes actually flutter open, because he is a ridiculous Disney prince. “Tyson?” he murmurs, low, his voice hoarse with sleep, and he starts to smile, like waking up to Tyson’s face makes him happy, and Tyson—

“Go back to sleep,” Tyson tells him, and gets out of bed before he can see Gabe’s reaction.

By the time he hits the bathroom, he can’t even pretend that he’s not turned on—there was Gabe last night, telling him nice things and touching his thigh and looking at him with those dark eyes, and Gabe this morning, with a raspy voice that could have been for any number of reasons.

It's not the first time he’s thought, sort of idly, about Gabe when he jerked off; it’s a side effect to being friend with the hottest man in existence for years. But Tyson’s resisted since they moved in; it would be weird, he’s thought, and it’s not like there aren’t other fantasies to keep him going.

But his mind’s full of Gabe now, and when he wraps his hand around his cock he can’t think of anything else—it’s just Gabe, and that intense look, like Tyson’s prey he’s hunting, and Gabe’s big hands sliding up his leg, pushing his thighs apart, and Gabe stripping his suit off slowly and purposefully and stalking towards Tyson and pushing him down into the mattress and Tyson getting to touch all that skin, and getting his mouth on him and Gabe’s beard against his skin and Gabe’s voice in his ear, saying nice things saying mean things just talking and—

Tyson comes hard, biting his other hand to keep quiet.

He watches the shower wash the evidence away as his brain rearranges. Plus side, orgasm helps hangovers. Downside, he’s definitely not going to be able to be normal with Gabe this morning. Maybe he can claim it’s the hangover.

He finishes showering. Thankfully, Gabe’s still asleep when he’s done, and so Tyson can change quickly and grab his computer before going out to the kitchen. He’s just about finished breakfast and dealing with emails when Gabe stumbles out. Sure enough, he goes bright red just looking at Gabe—the man’s in just his boxers and he’s adorably rumpled and he smiles when Tyson hands him his coffee, what’s he supposed to do?—but Gabe just mumbles something at him and goes to the shower.

By the time he comes out again, more articulate, Tyson is both more collected and also almost late. “Are you alive?” Tyson asks, and Gabe makes a face at him. He’s still clutching his coffee to his chest possessively.

“Don’t you have to leave?” he asks. Tyson shrugs.

“Yeah. Wanted to make sure you were functional first.”

Gabe’s scowl melts away, even if he clearly is trying to keep it. Tyson looks down at his computer. He can’t handle Gabe looking at him like that. “Worried about me, Brutes?”

“No.” Tyson says, firmly. “I just spent a lot of time investing in your relationships with your colleagues last night, I wanted to make sure you didn’t ruin them by being bitchy and hungover today.”

“You just want to go to more fancy restaurants,” Gabe retorts.

“Maybe,” Tyson admits. “That was really fucking good.”

“Yeah.” Gabe grins at him. Then they’re just grinning at each other, and it’s—weird.

“Okay, I’ve actually got to go,” Tyson decides, closes his computer. Gabe watches from the kitchen as he grabs his bag, gets his shoes on.

“Have a good day,” he calls. Tyson looks back. Gabe’s leaning against the doorjamb into the kitchen, in his suit pants and shirt and bare feet, his eyes still sleepy and his hands wrapped around the coffee, and he looks like—not even prince charming or whatever, just Gabe, which is too attractive on its own.

“You too,” Tyson calls back, and gets going.

Despite his hangover, it’s not a bad day at school; he begs some Advil off of Katie who only laughs at him a little and the kids are surprisingly well behaved. Melissa’s out, which is the only fly in the ointment—according to the front desk it’s for family reasons, but Tyson doesn’t love what that means.

But there’s nothing he can really do about that—he wrote the letter Gabe’s friend told him to—and so he focuses on the kids who are there, and then, when he gets home, on writing his blog post about the reception—he throws in a picture of him and Gabe, because the readers love.

He’s finishing up a draft when his phone buzzes. It’s almost six thirty, so Tyson figure it’s Gabe updating him—or part of his ongoing debate with Nate about the Blackhawks game that’s on in the background—but he’s definitely not expecting anything from Biz.

_Hey! Hope things are going good. Your ep’s been a total hit._

_Have you thought about what I said about starting a podcast? ‘cause I’ve got a friend who wants to spin off Biz Nasty to talk about feeding yourself in NYC—he’s a cook—and needs a partner and I thought of you. You guys would get on great—eating in and dining out? He’s like a less attractive, Swiss, meaner version of me. You guys could rock it._

Tyson gapes.

_Seriously?_ He asks.

_Swear it on Gretzky’s grave_ , Biz replies. _You in?_

Tyson’s mouth opens. Closes. _I’ll think about it_.

Biz sends back a row of frowning emojis, two burgers, and a few pointed microphones _._  

Tyson sets his phone aside carefully. He hadn’t really thought about a podcast when Biz proposed it past that night—it had been a fun, flattering dream. But this is—concrete. Real. Possible. He’d gone to Tyson.

Tyson shakes his head, and turns up the volume on the TV.

He still can’t help but think about it. He can’t do a podcast. He doesn’t know how to podcast. He was such a mess on Biz Nasty Does New York. He can’t.

Gabe comes home at a pretty reasonable seven, and Tyson forgot to order anything so Gabe rolls his eyes and starts raiding the fridge for leftovers as Tyson sits on the couch and listens to him bitch about his day, which apparently had no mercy for the wine he’d drunk last night and instead was full of meetings.

Gabe complaining about that lasts until they’ve finished eating, and Tyson gets up to throw everything away. Gabe follows, leaning against the counter to watch as Tyson does the dishes because “he cooked, Tyson” even though Tyson was the one who had ordered originally and Gabe had just microwaved so clearly Tyson was the one who really cooked.

“So how was your day?” Gabe asks, when he’s finally wound down. Tyson shrugs.

“Fine.” He gives Gabe the latest update on the ongoing saga of Nikolai and Nick, who are two of his students who are alternately best friends and worst enemies depending on the hour and how many crayons are available to color. He finishes washing the dishes, then turns to the freezer, because he wants ice cream. He gets the carton out, then turns around to see Gabe leaning back, one leg kicked over the other, and he’s watching Tyson with a little smile on that makes Tyson want to squirm. That makes him want to settle.

It makes him want to say something, anything, so he goes on, “Oh, and Biz texted me.”

“Really? What does he want?” Gabe crosses the kitchen to grab two bowls from the cupboard, because he’s civilized or whatever like that. Tyson hands him the carton of vanilla, because he’s also boring, and keeps the peanut butter cookie dough for himself.

“He has a friend who’s looking to start a podcast about food in New York and is looking for a partner.”

“And he thought of you?”

“I know, right?” Tyson waves his spoon in a ‘what can you do?’ expression before he digs in. “Don’t know what he was thinking. But yeah. He wants me to do it.”

Gabe’s watching him evenly, not eating his ice cream, when Tyson looks up. “Are you going to?”

Tyson snorts. “Probably not. I don’t have time. And can you imagine me as a podcaster?”

Gabe makes an exasperated noise. “Of course not.”

“What does that mean?” Tyson demands. He stabs his spoon into his ice cream. 

“Nothing.”

“Gabe.”

“It’s nothing.”

“No it’s not,” Tyson says, narrowing his eyes. “What the fuck, Landeskog?”

“Fine.” Gabe rolls his eyes. “It means of course you’re not going to take advantage of this great opportunity.”

“And what does _that_ mean?” Tyson repeats. Something turns over in his stomach, that feels like the inverse of last night.

“It means that this is what you do, Tyson.” Gabe still sounds exasperated. He sets down his bowl, and turns to the freezer to replace the carton. “Whenever you have a chance to succeed, you find a way to make sure you don’t.”

“Fuck you,” Tyson retorts. He’s vibrating. He can’t. He doesn’t. What the fuck is Gabe talking about? “I don’t. I’m plenty successful. I’m employed and everything.”

“Every job before this one,” Gabe goes on, matter of fact. “Any relationship you think could go somewhere. Me. Hockey—”

“I didn’t sabotage anything with my relationships!” Tyson protests. He puts his bowl down. His hands are shaking, he thinks. He doesn’t. He doesn’t know what Gabe means. “I mean, sure, I don’t date for long, but usually they break up with me!”

“Yeah, because as soon as it might work, you close off and cool it down.” Gabe raises his eyebrows in a challenge, like he’s daring Tyson to disagree.

That’s a dare Tyson will take. “I don’t! It just doesn’t work, that doesn’t mean it’s my fault—”

“Andi, James—”

“And what do you mean, you?” Tyson interrupts. He doesn’t. He doesn’t know what Gabe’s talking about. Things didn’t work out with his past relationships. So what.

Gabe rolls his eyes again. “Come on.”

“Come on, what? What do you mean, you? When have I ever sabotaged you, or whatever?”

Gabe looks up, and his eyes meet Tyson’s, so blue and intent. “You know perfectly well how I feel about you, but you won’t let anything happen because you’re too afraid it’ll be good.”

Tyson reels. “How you feel about me?” he echoes.

Gabe sighs. “Don’t be an idiot, Tyson.”

“Don’t condescend to me, Gabriel,” Tyson snaps back. “What do you mean, how you feel about me?”

Gabe’s arms cross across his chest. “You know what I mean.”

“If I knew what you meant, I wouldn’t be asking you.”

“If you weren’t so fucking terrified of being successful, of something working out and you actually having to deal with that, then you would know!”

“I would know what!” Tyson yells. “What, are you in love with me or something?”

As soon as it’s out of his mouth, he wishes he could take it back. Gabe’s face goes white, then red, and his mouth opens and closes. Tyson’s eyes widen. What the—

“Gabe, are you—”

“If you’d wanted to know you would know,” Gabe repeats, and his back is up too now. 

“You’re what?” Tyson says, dumbfounded. Gabe is—what. No. He can’t be. That doesn’t make sense. “No. I would have noticed.”

“Clearly you wouldn’t have.” Gabe snaps. He’s still flushed. Tyson’s gaping, he knows he is. “That’s what I mean! You don’t let yourself have things that you know will actually work because you’re scared.”

Tyson curls his hands around his wrist. This is _bullshit._ “Or because you didn’t say anything! Am I just supposed to read your mind, or—”

“You do with everything else! With everyone else!” Gabe yells back. “I’m sleeping in your fucking bed, Tyson, and you still didn’t just _see_ —”

“So you’re just doing all this—” Tyson waves his hand at the room, at the apartment. “Just to get in my pants? Fuck, is that all—”

“Of course not,” Gabe retorts.

“Nothing’s of course! You’re _in love_ with me!”

“That’s not the point!” Gabe takes a breath. When he talks again, his voice is calmer—a forced calm. “The point is it’s another thing you won’t let yourself have because you know how good we’d be together. Like you barely let yourself go on Biz Nasty. Like you won’t do this podcast.  Like it took you years to actually decide to teach. Like you—”

“I get it!” Tyson cuts him off, before he can keep on listing all of Tyson’s failures. All the ways Tyson fell short. “I’m a failure, glad you think so, tell me how you really feel—”

“You’re not a failure, you’re just—”

“A coward?” Tyson fills in. Gabe sets his jaw but doesn’t correct him, his eyes still sparking at Tyson. Tyson glares back. He doesn’t—“Well, fuck you, at least I fucking tell people I’m in love with them before I get mad at them for not noticing!”

“I—”

“No, you don’t get to stand up there all high and mighty,” Tyson keeps going, before Gabe can say anything. “I don’t fucking move in—start _sleeping in the same bed_ as—the guy I’m in love with without saying anything! What were you waiting for Gabe, an engraved invitation? For me to be swept off my feet so you didn’t have to risk anything?”

It hits a nerve, Tyson can see from the dull flush that comes over Gabe’s face, by how his shoulders set. Good, he deserves it. “It was never much of a risk,” he drawls, and Tyson just—

“Fuck you,” he informs Gabe, clearly, then turns on his heel and stalks away.

“Where are you going?” Gabe demands. Tyson shoves his feet into his shoes.

“Away!”

“Of course you are,” Gabe spits at his back. Tyson grabs his jacket. “You can’t stay anywhere.”

Tyson spins to glare at Gabe. He’s in the doorway to the kitchen, looking all big and angry and overwhelming, and he’s—Tyson just can’t be here. Can’t deal with him.

“Well I can’t stay in your bed now,” he throws back, then he yanks the door open and slams it closed behind him before Gabe can say anything else.

_Gabe’s in love with me!?!?!?_ He sends to Nate, as he also slams the door to the building closed, for good measure. It’s still fucking cold out.

_WTF????_ Nate replies, which makes Tyson feel better, at least. _What happened?_

Tyson looks at his phone, but he can’t put this into words. He puts his phone back into his pocket.

Then, a second later, he takes it out, sends another text. _Can I stay with you tonight?_

It takes Jamie until he gets to the subway to reply. _What happened?_

_Nothing. Gabe and I fought. Can I stay with you guys?_

_Yeah, of course. Whatever you need._


	7. Chapter 7

Jamie and Katie live in a cute little brownstone in Astoria, in a building that always seemed like it was built a century too early for Jamie’s bulk, but it’s got a couch that Tyson knows for a fact Jamie chose for napping purposes, so it’s a good crashing house.

“Thanks again for letting me stay,” he says, as Katie gets out blankets and sets them on the couch. Jamie’s hovering next to the couch, looking much more like a mother hen then someone his size should.

“You know you’re always welcome,” Katie says. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

Jamie raises his eyebrows. “Tys.”

“It’s fine.”

“Then should I tell Gabe you’re here?”

“What?” Tyson demands, sitting up straight. He’s been ignoring his phone completely, because he doesn’t want to deal with Gabe’s follow up, if he has any, or Nate’s questions. He thinks he’s allowed to wallow in the fight.

“I think he’s texting everyone you know,” Jamie explains, tossing Tyson his phone. Gabe’s text is on top— _Do you know where Tyson is? Is he answering his phone?_

Tyson rolls his eyes. When he picks up his phone, it’s full of texts—Nate demanding to know more, which transitions into Gabe demanding to know where he is, and then Nate demanding to know where he is and offering his couch and then everyone else demanding to know where he is too because Gabe really does seem to be blowing up everyone’s phone, so great, now everyone knows they had a fight. _Just let me know you’re safe_ , is Gabe’s last text, and Tyson rolls his eyes again at it.

_I’m at Jamie’s. Stop annoying everyone_ , he sends back, then gives Jamie back his phone and throws his far away.

When he looks up from that, he’s confronted with two pairs of worried eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?” Katie asks.

Tyson shakes his head. He doesn’t. He doesn’t know how to handle any of it. The things Gabe threw at him, Gabe being fucking in love with him, just—everything.

Jamie settles onto the couch next to him, big and comforting and as solid as he has been for the past decade. “Do you want to watch a movie?” he asks, and Tyson nods. Jamie looks over Tyson’s head, and Tyson knows he’s doing the couple silent communication thing with Katie, who turns to head out of the living room. The sort of eyes-only talking you do with people you know that well. Tyson and Gabe had done that in the apartment.

Not that he cares. Because Gabe’s a dick who called him a failure and is apparently in love with him.

Jamie flips around through Netflix until he finds Dumb and Dumber, and then a second later Katie comes back with three bowls of ice cream, which she sets on the table before sitting down on Tyson’s other side.

“You’re the best,” Tyson tells them both, sincerely as he knows.

“Shut up, you hoser,” Jamie retorts, because he’s never been able to take praise, and Tyson settles in to watch the movie and not think about anything else.

///

Tyson has to think about shit in the morning, if only because he has to go to work and that means he has to pick up his phone. He ignores everything from the group chat, everything from his sister—god, Gabe really did cast a wide net—and everything from Gabe. The only person he replies to is Nate, who’s clearly worried, confused, and a little hurt Tyson’s not staying with him.

Tyson can’t quite articulate why he’s not—the logistical concerns are one thing, but also Nate knows him too well, and if he agreed with Gabe—if he thinks Tyson’s a failure too, that he’s letting everyone down, then—Tyson can’t face that. So he cites the couch problem, and Nate’s the best and lets him ignore the Gabe sized elephant in the metaphorical room, so it’s okay.

What’s clearly not sustainable is raiding Jamie’s wardrobe without looking like a kid playing dress up. And also—Tyson’s computer is still at the apartment. He has shit he needs there, even if he can’t quite—he doesn’t want to see Gabe. He doesn’t really want to be there. But he’s not going to ask anyone else to pick up his shit for him, so he goes back to the apartment right after school ends, when Gabe is definitely going to be at work.

Tyson hasn’t even been gone a full twenty-four hours, but it still feels weird to be back. Everything looks different, somehow. Gabe’s in love with him. Gabe thinks he’s enough of a failure that he was a sure thing. There, they’d cuddled watching a movie. There, Gabe had made him hungover breakfast. There, Gabe had looked at him like—

Tyson grabs a bag, throws some clothes into it mainly at random. The bed’s neatly made, because of course it is, but there are little signs of Gabe’s frustration everywhere—clothes that have been discarded like it took him a long time to get dressed, pillows on the couch shoved around like he couldn’t settle, the food in the fridge rearranged like he needed something to do with his hands. Good. He should be frustrated. Tyson is. Tyson can’t—

There’s a knock on the door. “Hey, it’s me,” Josty calls, and Tyson sighs, but he can’t not.

“Yeah, come in, it’s open,” he calls back, and the door opens and closes behind Josty. He’s still in the sweats and t-shirt of a college student who’s just woken up, even though it’s past four.

“Hey,” Josty says, cautious.

“Hi.” Tyson replies.

“Are you—” Josty bites his lip, then clearly decides. “Are you and Gabe fighting? JT said that he was looking for you last night, like you didn’t sleep here?”

“Fighting, you could call it that,” Tyson agrees, snorting. It was definitely a fight. But he and Gabe have fought before—hell, they’re sort of constantly low-level fighting—and it wasn’t this. It didn’t make Tyson feel cut open and exposed.

“Are you okay?” It’s an honest question, openly empathetic, and Josty doesn’t know anything—he doesn’t know what it feels like to fight like this, he doesn’t know anything about Gabe and Tyson and all the complications between them, he doesn’t know anything about the history, so it’s just sympathy, honest and open, and Tyson can’t anymore. He’s so sick of this. Of pretending. Of trying to keep track of what was pretend.

“Gabe and I aren’t together.”

“You broke up?” Josty reels back, looking physically ill. “Tyson, are you okay? What happened? I thought—”

“No, we were never together,” Tyson says. This is so stupid. He can’t find it in him to care. “We’ve been pretending since you knew us. It was the only way to get this apartment.”

Josty stares for a second. Then he snorts, looking a little annoyed. “Fine, you don’t have to tell me how you’re feeling. Just don’t scare me like that, god.”

“It’s the truth!”

“Uh-huh, sure. Tell me that about a couple less nauseatingly into each other.” Josty suddenly looks contrite. “Or, I mean, I know you’re fighting, but—”

“No, seriously!”

“Tyson, I’ve had to leave this apartment to get away from the flirting and eyefucking. You guys are the most married. It’s super cute, really.” Josty’s grin twists. “And that’s not even talking about how possessive Gabe is of you.” He pauses, then, “Wait, was that the problem?”

“Possessive?” Tyson echoes.

“Yeah, how he gets all growly or mopey if you flirt with someone else, and then has to go get you and bring you back? Like, I know you called him off me, and I barely even—” Josty cuts himself off, going a little red, but Tyson ignores that part. Tyson knows what Josty’s talking about, obviously, but that had been part of the pretend. Hadn’t it? Gabe hadn’t done it before. Or had Tyson not noticed? “Anyway, I know that’s not, like, healthy, or whatever, but you guys can work on it!”

“No, it wasn’t that.” Tyson shakes his head. How much else had he missed? But Gabe had—if he was really in love with Tyson, would he have said all the other shit? “It was—it was complicated, Josty.”

“I know.” Josty bites at his lip again. “I just wanted to—I mean, you guys should break up if it’s best for you, but I—I don’t know, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Tyson manages a smile. “I’m fine, thanks.”

Josty’s eyebrows are really expressive, and right now they’re expressing disbelief. But, “Okay…” he says slowly. “Just let me know if you need anything?”

“Of course.” Then that’s way too many emotions, so Tyson reaches out and ruffles his hair. Josty dodges, swearing at him. “What about you? How has your seduction been going?”

“It’s not a seduction!” Josty protests, but he clearly wants to talk about it with someone, so Tyson lets him. It’s easier than thinking about anything else.

///

Katie and Jamie don’t seem to question Tyson spending another night on their couch. Katie just lets him in when he gets back from the apartment, and then they work at the kitchen table for a while until Jamie gets back. It’s all very domestic, watching them, how they make dinner together and talk about stupid domestic things. Tyson’s so glad Jamie found someone like Katie, he is. That Katie found Jamie. But it makes him think—he’s been living with Gabe for months, and it’s easy to fall into patterns like that.

After dinner, Katie goes out for drinks with friends, so she kisses Jamie good bye and, when Tyson teases, kisses his forehead too before she leaves. Jamie and Tyson both should probably work more, but instead Jamie gets out Call of Duty, and Tyson’s not going to not shoot some people as catharsis.

He’s good at this, at least. Or not bad at it, anyway, he thinks as he takes a digital figure out. And he’s playing it. Take that, Gabe. He doesn’t do any of that shit.

But he hadn’t noticed Gabe, either—hadn’t noticed that there was anything real.

He looks over. Jamie’s still bent over his controller. There are maybe people who know him better than Jamie, but Jamie’s known him longest. He doesn’t have many serious friends from childhood; Jamie’s really the only one he really kept. There’s probably no way to drive him away, at this point.

“Do you think I self-sabotage?” he asks. Jamie reflexively shoots one more person, then pauses the game and turns to Tyson.

“What?”

“Do I, I don’t know.” Tyson looks back down at the couch. “Like, not go for things because I know they’d work?”

Jamie puffs up. “Is that what Landeskog said to you? I’ll—”

“I don’t need you to punch anyone for me,” Tyson tells him, though he’s smiling a little. He loves his friends. “I just—do you think he’s right?”

Jamie lets out a long breath, un-puffing. “I think…” Jamie trails off, clearly putting the words together. Tyson waits. Sometimes it takes a second for him. “Do you remember, junior year, when you were up for captain?” Tyson nods. “And you said no.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t going to be fair to you guys,” Tyson agrees. “What if dad had been traded over the summer? Then you’d be out a captain.”

“Yeah.” Jamie nods. “And I think that…you do that a lot.”

“Do what?” Tyson stands by that decision. He’d been looking out for the team.

“Um.” Jamie rubs at the back of his neck. “You’d rather not do something then maybe let people down.”

“Well, yeah. I’ve done the thing where I got responsibility and then we had to move so it sucked for everyone, and—oh.” Tyson does hear what he’s saying. “But I haven’t been moving around like that in years.”

“Yeah, but you still—I mean, it would make sense if you still thought like that.” Jamie’s still clearly awkward, because he’s not great with these sort of things, but he’s so sure. “Not that it’s a bad thing. But—well, like, with Andi, for example, I think you did, a little bit. When things got good you sort of…pulled back. Until things weren’t so good anymore and they broke up with you.”

“I loved them!”

“I’m not saying you didn’t.” Jamie’s hand rests on Tyson’s shoulder. Soothing. God, Tyson remembers the heartbreak of when Andi left. It had sucked. “But you can love someone and still be afraid.”

Tyson swallows. Snorts. “Speaking from experience?” he gets out, instead of showing that—fuck, had he? Did he do that?

 “Oh, sure. Katie terrifies me.” Jamie grins, big and bashful and so in love. “Both because she’s her and because she could break my heart so hard. And I could break hers, which is probably worse. But, like—bro, it’s so worth it.”

“Awww,” Tyson coos, listing over to knock his shoulder against Jamie’s. Jamie knocks his back, laughing, and then they pick the game back up.

///

Tyson thinks about it. He doesn’t really think, for sleeping about it. Then, way too late or too early, he send a quick text, and goes to bed.

///

“So.”

“Yeah.” Tyson steals a look at Nate. He’s looking at his coffee, not at Tyson. Sometimes, Tyson remembers how much younger he is—not often, but sometimes. “Look, it didn’t mean anything, that I went to Jamie’s and not yours.”

“You could have come to mine. I’d have made room.”

“I know.” Tyson kicks at his calf until he looks at Tyson. “I do, bro. I just didn’t want you in the middle.”

“You say that like Gabe hasn’t been calling me every five minutes to see if I’ve heard from you.”

Tyson snorts. “Seriously?”

Nate grins too, small but real. “Seriously. You really scared him.”

“Does he really think that I can’t take care of myself for a night?” Tyson asks, rolling his eyes. He puts his menu down—this isn’t a restaurant reviewing sort of brunch. This is a ‘sorry for not talking to you you’re still my best friend’ sort of brunch. “It’s New York, it’s not like I’m going to get grabbed by a serial killer.”

“Haven’t you watched Criminal Minds? I think a serial killer in New York’s pretty likely.”

“Not statistically.”

“Well—” Nate shakes his head. “I mean, he was just worried. You know how he gets.”

“Yeah.” Now it’s Tyson’s turn to look down at his coffee. “Did you know he was in love with me?”

“No,” Nate answers immediately. “I mean, I knew he wanted to fuck you, because you guys are super not subtle about that, but I didn’t think it was, like, real.”

“Right!” Tyson agrees, looking up again and probably louder than it should be. “It’s not just me. Or I didn’t think he actually wanted to fuck me, because he looks like that and I look like me, but even without that, how was I supposed to know that he was in love with me or whatever? I’m not even sure he is, really—he never said it. And like, he said a lot of other shit too.”

“I don’t know. In retrospect—it’s kind of obvious, bro.”

“It’s not!”

“Maybe from the inside,” Nate says, placating, “But from the outside—you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger, Tys, and you sort of always have.”

“He never does anything I ask!” Tyson sputters, “He’s always arguing!”

“And then he does exactly what you need.” Nate gives Tyson his best closer look. “Including moving in with you when you needed it.”

Well. Fine. That is a good point.

“But—” Tyson shakes his head. “He said a lot of stuff, Nate.”

“You guys have fought before.”

“Yeah, I know, I just…” Tyson grabs his phone, opens up Biz’s text, and pushes it at Nate. Nate reads it, then grins up at Tyson.

“Seriously? That’s awesome!”

“Is it?” Tyson shrugs. “I mean, it’s cool, but—I don’t know, apparently I sabotage myself, but—I’ve already got a full time job, and blogging takes a lot of time, and you know how I am on mic. I’m really not sure it’s a good idea.”

“If it’s not what you want you shouldn’t do it,” Nate tells him, simple. “And Gabe shouldn’t push you into it. But if you do want it but you’re afraid you won’t be good at it—that’s stupid. You’ll be great.”

“Thanks, dawg.” Tyson tells him, even if he’s a little red. “I just—now it’s tied up in Gabe too, because he said—I don’t know, I don’t think it could ever occur to him that it really might not work out or it might be too much.”

“And have you told him that?”

“We sort of just jumped right into fighting.”

“Figures.”

“Hey!”

“Communication—”

“Are you seriously going to give me a lecture on communication?”

Nate grins. “Well, if the shoe fits?”

“The shoe does not fit. The shoe might fight Landy’s oversized head, but it does not fit me.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Sure it does.”

“Why is he wearing a shoe on his head?”

“Because it’s a new Swedish fashion, clearly.”

“Oh, right.” Nate keeps a straight face for a second, but then they’re both cracking up enough that the waitress, who had been coming by to get their order, veers away and doesn’t come back until they’ve calmed down.

They’re finishing with brunch and Tyson’s taking a few pictures of his empty waffles plate—because he can’t help himself sometimes—when Nate brings it up again. “You know I’m always on your side, right?” he says, quietly. “Like, Landy’s one of my best friends, but you’re—”

“Yeah.” Tyson grins at him. He knows. He’s so lucky in Nate. Then his smile fades. “It wasn’t only that, it was—”

“You had to think it over on your own first,” Nate finishes.

“Yeah,” Tyson nods. Friends who can finish your sentences are the best.

“I know that’s what you do, but you know you don’t have to, right?”

“What I do?” Tyson asks, on edge. That’s how Gabe’s whole thing started.

Nate shrugs. “You take care of yourself, Brutes.”

“I’m pretty sure Gabe would disagree. I’m pretty sure everyone would disagree,” Tyson retorts. He’s lived through a lot of teasing about how much of a mess he tends to be.

Nate shakes his head. “No, like, emotionally? You figure shit out on your own, you don’t rely on other people. It’s not a bad thing. But you can talk to me if you need to.”

He’s not wrong, Tyson guesses. And he’s at least not judging, not like Gabe did. “I know.” He bites his lip, but it’s Nate. “And—I will.”

Nate doesn’t look pleased, but he still nods. “Just next time, tell me where you are so I can get Gabe off your back.”

“Hopefully there won’t be a next time,” Tyson points out. Nate does a sort of squirming motion that Tyson’s pretty sure is meant to express his uncertainty.

“I mean. It’s you and Gabe…”

“Oh fuck off.”

“But actually.” Nate leans in. “Are you going to go back?” He asks it evenly, apparently not judging one way or the other.

Tyson shrugs. He’s honestly not sure whether Nate means go back to the apartment or back to Gabe, but it’s kind of one and the same. Back to the life that’s somehow become shared. “It’s me and Gabe,” he replies, and that really sums it up, he thinks.

///

Tyson glances down at his phone, then up at the building. It feels like everything’s shifted in the two days since he left. Thursday, he’d walked into the apartment not knowing Gabe was—well, Gabe was into him. Not knowing that Gabe thought he was—well, whatever Gabe thought he was, that certainly wasn’t a success. Not knowing that his entire worldview might be shifted.

But— _if you want to talk, I’m going to be home this evening_ , Gabe had sent, then right after, _no pressure. I just think we should talk._ Tyson manages his usual fond exasperation, looking at the texts. What a perfectly Gabe mix of caring and sensitivity and bull-headed stubbornness and bossiness.

Tyson hadn’t replied. He hadn’t known until he got off the train that he was actually going. But—here he is. It’s him and Gabe, and whatever else, they need to talk because Tyson’s not going to fracture their friend group over this. And there’s the apartment to think of. And there’s a lot of justification that basically boils down to Tyson hasn’t not seen Gabe for this long since they moved in together, and as usual, he’s really bad at being mad, even if he’s apparently better at being hurt. 

So Tyson opens the door, goes up the stairs. Lets himself into the apartment.

“Gabe?” he calls, as he comes in and shuts the door behind him. “I’m here, are you—”

Then he cuts off. Sometime in the last twenty-four hours, the apartment’s been cleaned—Gabe’s been stressed, Tyson’s not surprised—but it’s also been, well, romancified. The living room’s been rearranged to fit an actual table, which has a tablecloth on it—Tyson didn’t even know they owned a tablecloth—and like, candles and real dishes and the apartment smells great and Tyson is, for once in his life, speechless.

“Tyson!” Gabe comes out of the kitchen. He’s wearing jeans and a blue button down and has a dishtowel thrown over one shoulder and he looks like everything out of all the fantasies Tyson’s been trying not to have since they moved in, and he’s looking at Tyson like if he looks away he’ll disappear. “You’re here.”

“Yeah.” Tyson looks at Gabe, then at the table again. “Do we own a tablecloth?”

Gabe snorts, and it lights up his face. “We do now.”

“Oh.” Tyson puts his keys in his pocket. He’s still speechless. Or, more or less. “You did some rearranging.”

“Temporarily,” Gabe agrees. He still hasn’t looked away from Tyson. “Do you mind?”

“I, um.” Tyson swallows. “How did you even know I’d come? I didn’t say I’d be here.”

Gabe smiles again, smaller, softer. “I know you,” he says, and that’s a thing that Tyson is going to have to deal with. “And I hoped.”

“Fuck, Gabe.” Tyson rubs a hand through his hair. He’s in whatever he’d grabbed last time he was here, which means he’s in old jeans and some free college t-shirt he’d gotten. He’s in no way prepared for this. “What are you even doing?”

“You were right. I—”

“Sorry, can you say that again?” Tyson interjects. “I think I need to record it.”

“Tyson,” Gabe sighs, his lips twitching. It’s a bit of a comfort. That they’re still there, even with all of—this.

“Sorry, go on. You were saying that I was right.” Tyson waves a hand. He edges in, because doing this in the doorway feels weird. Gabe just rotates so he’s still looking at him.

“I’m not saying it again. But, you were. I’ve been just, I don’t know, waiting for you to figure it out, because if you did that would mean that you were ready. But that’s bullshit and gives you way too much credit—”

“Hey!”

“So—” Gabe spreads out his arms, gestures to the table and the kitchen and everything. “This is me, telling you. Doing what I should have done years ago and making the big gesture.”

Tyson swallows. “Telling me what, Gabe?”

Gabe takes a step forward. “That I’m in love with you.”

It echoes, somehow. Tyson had basically known what he was going to say, and it’s still echoing in him, impossible and huge and incomprehensible. “Gabe—”

“No, don’t. I am. I’ve been in love with you for years, and maybe I should have told you before but I didn’t so I’m telling you now.” This is Gabe’s stubborn face now, and it shouldn’t be so hot when it’s focused at Tyson. “I love you. I—”

“Even though I’m a failure?”

“What?” Gabe bristles. “What the hell, Tyson, you aren’t—”

“That’s what you said.” Tyson looks down at his hand. “That I don’t succeed at things, and I—”

“Don’t be stupid,” Gabe snaps, but he’s taken another step forward, like he’s going to touch but doesn’t know if he can. “I meant that you hamstring yourself and that you don’t succeed as much as you can, not that you’re a failure. You’re a great teacher and you made your blog into something amazing and you’ve got a lot of friends threatening to beat me up—including our mutual friends, by the way—”

“Who?”

“Nate—”

“Well, Nate, obviously—”

“And Josty and Comphy and Kerfy, and Mikko and Yaki.” Gabe wrinkles his nose. “I’m the one putting my heart on the line here, you’d think they’d be worried about me.”

“Your heart’s on the line?”

“Did you not hear me? I’m in love with you.” It sets something alight in Tyson’s stomach. People have told him they love him before, but it’s never been quite like this—it’s never been Gabe, one of his best friends, who’s always seemed baseline out of his league, throwing the words at Tyson like a dare and a promise. “I’ve spent five years waiting—hoping—you’d realize how good we’d be together, how good we are, but not even living together and acting like a couple could do it, so—”

“You know, I thought confessions of love were supposed to have fewer insults in them,” Tyson observes. He can’t—five years? Five years ago they’d just graduated college and moved here to the city. Tyson’s been in and out of love a few times in the past five years. Gabe’s been in serious relationships since then. Gabe’s—he doesn’t remember a difference in how Gabe looked at him before that.

“Not ours.” Gabe smiles, and Tyson knows that look—it’s how Gabe smiles at Tyson. He’d never thought  anything about it, really. It was just how Gabe looked at him. He hadn’t noticed what’s so obvious now. What it means when Gabe’s whole heart is in that smile. “Tyson—if you’re not sure, you don’t have to be, we can have dinner and figure out the apartment if you’d rather, and I can—I will woo the hell out of you if you need, until even you realize that—”

And Gabe’s just there, being all—Gabe-like, the same guy Tyson’s known for almost a decade, and he’s too attractive and too earnest and just a little mean and Tyson likes him so much, always has, and he’s always known how to prod Tyson into action.

And really, even if this goes up in flames, Tyson wants to know what it feels like to kiss Gabriel Landeskog.

 “Okay, first, fuck you, Nate didn’t realize you were in love with me either, so you were not as obvious as you thought,” Tyson starts, and Gabe’s face lights up, because he knows Tyson very well. “And second, I’ve told you, I don’t need wooing.”

Gabe’s eyes are definitely sparkling now. “And I’ve told you, a good romantic gesture goes a long way.”

“Well, you didn’t even pull out a ‘boy standing in front of a boy’ line, so really what do you know about a gesture?”

“What?” Gabe wrinkles his nose, but he’s still smiling.

“Never mind.” Tyson shakes his head, even though Gabe really should get that reference and he’s going to make fun of him for it later. “What did you say, a date makes it clear you’ve thought about a person? So when you think of me, you think of food?”

Gabe takes another step towards Tyson. It’s close enough Tyson has to tilt his head back to keep their eyes locked; close enough that it would take barely a thought for Tyson to close the distance completely.

But then Gabe shakes his head. “When I think of you, I think of home.”

Tyson’s mouth opens. Closes. Home’s not something he takes lightly, and he knows Gabe knows that. “Holy shit, Gabe,” he says, then he pushes up onto his toes to kiss him.

He cuts off whatever Gabe’s retort is, or maybe Gabe stops talking because he gets busy with the kissing. Tyson’s maybe pictured this a lot, more than he’d like to admit, and it’s—well, it’s not what he fantasized because they’re fantasies and he doesn’t actually expect Gabe to know him _that_ well, but it’s still pretty awesome—Gabe’s lips on his and his hands on Tyson’s shoulders, his back, his hips, then back up, and Gabe kisses like it’s a fight that he’s going to win and Tyson has no objections to that.

“Fuck, Tyson,” Gabe breathes, and then his beard scrapes against Tyson’s cheeks as he kisses over Tyson’s jaw, down his neck. Tyson tries very hard not to be so distracted by that that he doesn’t get his hands on all the muscle of Gabe’s back that he’s been eying for months. “Fuck, we’ll be so good, you’ll see, I’ll prove it—”

“Can it be proved in bed?” Tyson suggests. Gabe’s shirt is still on and he’s pretty sure that’s a crime against nature. “Or on the couch? Or against the wall, that’s an idea, actually—Hey, what are you doing?” he asks, when Gabe pulls away. That’s not in the plan.

Gabe looks over his shoulder, at the kitchen. “We should eat first. I wanted to—”

“Gabriel Landeskog.” Tyson grabs his chin, forces him to look at Tyson. “I do not say this lightly. But this is more important than dinner.”

“That might be the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Gabe hums, his lips twitching, and Tyson scowls and yanks him back down to kiss him again until they’re both breathless.

“Okay, but seriously, the stove’s on, I have to at least turn that off,” Gabe says, when they have to surface for air.

“Yeah, that’d be more convincing if you let go of my ass,” Tyson points out. Gabe smirks, unrepentant. “I’m still pro the wall thing. It’s a little advanced for a first time, but I have faith in us. Well, in you, mainly; let’s be real I’d probably fall over or something. But I think I can manage to climb you, so—”

“Shut up,” Gabe tells him, and claps a hand over is mouth. Tyson bites at it, playful, but Gabe keeps it there. “You, bedroom. I’m going to turn off the stove.”

“Kinky,” Tyson contributes, when Gabe moves his hand. Then Gabe slaps his ass to make him go, and he adds, “Oh, very kinky! Gabriel Landeskog, are you into that?”

Gabe pauses, looks at Tyson with all the intensity he’s capable of, and Tyson swallows. “Do you want me to be into that?”

“I just didn’t think it was possible, I—Okay, going!” Tyson retorts, dodging the napkin Gabe throws at him. “But you better hurry or I’ll start without you.”

It makes Gabe move, which gives Tyson no little bit of satisfaction. But he’s also not an idiot, so he moves too, and tries not to think as he does. If he thinks, he might start wondering—what if this goes wrong, it could hurt so many people. Gabe’s—what if Gabe expects more of him? Gabe always expects more, and—

And Tyson needs to stop thinking, because he’s about to bang Gabriel Landeskog and so he wins. He lies down on the bed—then thinks better of that, and sits up to strip off his shirt. When he’s surfaced from that, Gabe’s there, in the doorway, and he’s staring with such blatant appreciation that Tyson goes a little red. He’s cute, sure, but he’s not sure he’s worth that look.

“Are you just going to watch?” he asks, and hooks his fingers into his belt loops to tug them down.

Gabe definitely growls, and stalks into the room. Tyson makes a show of licking his lips, even though he doesn’t need to, because damn that’s a sight. “Do you know,” Gabe says, climbing onto the bed to straddle Tyson’s thighs, “How often I’ve thought about this?”

“About what?” Tyson asks. He grabs at Gabe’s shirt to start undoing the buttons, because he wants to ogle when he’s allowed to.

Gabe grins. “About you, in this bed. About being allowed to do this.” He ignores Tyson’s important quest to lean down to kiss him, slow and thorough and enough that Tyson’s hips would be moving if Gabe didn’t have him pinned. Which is a thought that doesn’t help anything. “About being allowed to want this,” Gabe goes on, moving down his throat to bite at his neck.

Tyson moans, his head tilting back. “Fuck, yes, you can want anything if you keep doing that,” he gets out. “We’ve been wasting so much time, fuck, so many nights here we could have been doing this instead of sleeping. Wait, did you jerk off over me? Was that what takes you so long in the shower, not your hair?”

Gabe looks up. His lips are red from Tyson’s mouth and from the hickey he’s definitely been biting into Tyson’s neck. “Are you going to rag on me about my hair _now_?” he demands.

“That’s not answering the question,” Tyson observes. Now that he has a bit of mindpower left, he goes for the hem of Gabe’s shirt, tugs it up. “This needs to come off.”

Gabe sits back on his heels, and starts to undo the buttons of his shirt. Tyson’s mouth drops open, and he can’t bring it back up, because Gabe is smirking and undoing his shirt like he’s stripping, and of course he’s an attention whore, preening under Tyson’s gaping.

“Shit, Gabe,” Tyson stammers, and makes grabby hands until Gabe laughs and kisses him again, and Tyson can bury his hands in Gabe’s gorgeous, ridiculous hair and then also get his hands on all the gorgeous, ridiculous bared skin. “How are you real?”

“With a lot of practice,” Gabe retorts, and he looks so smug and pleased with that retort that Tyson shoves at him until they roll over.

“I’m going to blow you,” he announces, and Gabe’s whole body does some kind of shiver that makes Tyson laugh. “Excited for that?”

“Excited to see if you’re actually quiet during,” Gabe throws back, but he’s looking at Tyson as Tyson makes his slow, exploratory way down his chest like there’s nothing else in the world. It’s a lot of look; Tyson goes back to tasting his abs instead, because that feels like something he’s more equipped for.

“Then you’re probably doomed to disappointment,” Tyson informs him, and sets his hand on the button of Gabe’s jeans, where it’s pretty clear that he’s not disappointed at all. “Yeah?”

“Fuck yeah,” Gabe mutters, choked, and Tyson laughs again as he opens up Gabe’s jeans. Gabe lifts his hips up to help Tyson pull them down, and his boxers with them, and then—Tyson’s stolen peeks before, he’ll admit it. Not in a weird way, if there’s a not weird way to steal looks of a bro’s dick. Which maybe there isn’t, but it all led here, so he isn’t going to think too hard about it. Anyway, he’s always thought Gabe’s got a nice dick, and it’s just as nice up close, red and hard and accompanied by Gabe’s face looking down at him.

“Well?” he says, just that little bit imperious in a way that’s always made Tyson want to listen, want to trust. And, apparently, want to suck his dick.

“I like having my hair pulled, so you should do that,” he informs Gabe, then gets to it. Gabe chokes, either on Tyson’s words or on the fact that Tyson licks up his dick right after he says it, but then his hand’s in Tyson’s hair, and Tyson can lose himself in that—in Gabe’s dick in his mouth and how he tugs at Tyson’s hair when he wants more or less and how he groans when Tyson gets a hand up to play with his balls as he does. And then Tyson looks up—and it’s maybe even better like that, Gabe’s face flushed and his pupils totally blown out and that same look on his face, which all goes right to Tyson’s dick which is not happy with still being in jeans.

“Fuck, Tys, come _here_ ,” Gabe growls at last, and tugs at Tyson’s hair insistently enough that he scrambles up, to where Gabe’s yanking him to kiss him again, apparently not caring where Tyson’s mouth has been. “And get your pants off.”

“Wow, Gabe, so demanding,” Tyson mumbles into his mouth, but he sits back up to wiggle out of his pants, except that apparently takes too long so Gabe gets his hand under Tyson’s jeans and on his ass and is too busy groping him and mouthing at his neck for Tyson to get his jeans down farther than his thighs. “Fuck, come on, please—”

Gabe does some sort of move that somehow rolls them again even though Tyson is actually not small enough that he should be this easy to manhandle. Not that he’s complaining, because it also comes with Gabe getting his boxers out of the way and then wrapping a hand around both their dicks. Tyson moans, and his head slams back into the pillows.

“Oh, shit, yes, please, come on—” he babbles, as Gabe strokes them both together, Tyson thrusting helplessly up as Gabe grinds down. “That’s amazing, you’re amazing, you’re perfect yes please god, Gabe, please, more—”

“What’s that?” Gabe asks his voice somewhere between a purr and a grunt. “What do you want?”

Tyson can’t quite manage a glare, but he tries. “Gabe—”

“Tyson,” Gabe replies, in the same tone, and Tyson digs his fingers into his hair a little more.

“Make me come, Gabriel,” Tyson demands, and Gabe grins and tightens his grip and his teeth scrape over a nerve in Tyson’s neck and he’s coming with a shout that might be wordless or might be Gabe’s name.

Gabe strokes him through it, stops when Tyson makes a noise because it’s getting to be too much. Tyson collapses back onto the mattress, all his limbs tingling. Fuck. Maybe it was just because it’s been a while, but damn that was good.

And—Tyson doesn’t think it was just because it’s been a while. Not when he opens his eyes and Gabe’s still straddling his thighs, in all his naked glory, and Tyson can see where his hands messed up Gabe’s hair and his fingers pressed too hard into Gabe’s shoulders and just how turned on Gabe is, because he’s still just staring at Tyson and stroking his dick. Tyson probably should do something about that, but he doesn’t want to move, so—

“You can come on me, if you want,” he suggests, and Gabe groans, but as Tyson thought, he seems super into it, leaning forward as he jerks off. Tyson wraps a hand around his thigh, rubs his finger up and down Gabe skin until he comes with a low moan and spatters come all over Tyson’s chest. Then promptly makes a mess of it by falling down onto Tyson, breathing heavily.

“Now we’re both going to have to shower,” Tyson complains, probably less emphatically than he could, given that he’s also stroking Gabe’s shoulders.

“Hm,” Gabe mumbles into Tyson’s shoulders. He’s warm, heavy enough that they won’t be able to stay like this for long, but it’s nice for right now.

It’s some amount of time later—Tyson honestly couldn’t say—when Gabe lifts his head up, and smiles at Tyson, full toothy Disney prince. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Tyson parrots. Gabe’s messy and beaming and Tyson did that. He can’t really care if he sounds stupid.

“We did that.”

“Real keen powers of observation there, Landeskog.”

“I’m basking.” Gabe retorts. “I’ve—hell, Tyson. I’ve wanted this a long time.”

“Yeah.” It reminds Tyson of everything they avoided by jumping into bed—all the things they haven’t talked about. Sex doesn’t really settle anything, and big romantic dinners that get derailed by sex don’t either. “Five years, you said?”

“Give or take.”

“You’ve dated people in the last five years,” Tyson points out.

Gabe rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t going to waste away because I was in love with you. You’re not that great.”

“Wow, the honeymoon period’s over so quickly.”

“I already know what you look like in the mornings.”

“No, you really don’t,” Tyson retorts. “You’re never awake for them.”

“Fine, I know what you look like drooling in your sleep.”

“I don’t drool!”

“You do.” Gabe’s smile softens. “It’s cute.”

“Stop,” Tyson mutters. “And get off, you’re too heavy.”

“Fine.” Gabe rolls off of him onto his side of the bed, but he stays close, propping himself up on an elbow so he can look at Tyson. “And—I wasn’t waiting, or anything. I don’t think you owe me this, for being your friend, it wasn’t about some friend zone shit. It was just—” Gabe shrugs.

“No, seriously, what was it? Because when I was twenty-three I was kind of a mess, and I mean, I’m still not exactly prime boyfriend material. You said it yourself, I guess I run or whatever, and—”

“And you’re smart, and funny, and cute, and you make me laugh and you make things easier and you care more about people than anyone else I’ve ever met, even if you won’t admit it,” Gabe interrupts, fierce, and Tyson has to look away. But then he just sees their naked bodies, lain out next to each other, and that’s another thing that’s a lot. “And when you were twenty-three, I was twenty-two and also a mess and freaking out about law school and graduation and you came over or dragged me out every day until I got used to New York and I wasn’t freaking out anymore, and I loved you before that but that’s when I fell in love.” 

Tyson is a hundred percent scarlet. “I wasn’t fishing for compliments,” he mutters. “I just—we have to go into this with open eyes. It could mess up a lot of things. Hell, Gabe. We _live_ together.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Gabe spreads his hand over the blankets of the bed, like he’s staking a claim.

“We share a bed,” Tyson goes on, which is just now striking him as something bros don’t really do. “Wow, you agreed to share a bed with me?”

“The couch is really uncomfortable!” Gabe protests, shoving at his shoulder. “And—it wasn’t weird, I swear. I never—I mean, you’re cute when you’re asleep, but that’s all. I never did anything creepy.”

Tyson considers being weirded out, but the bed sharing had been pretty chaste, and “Eh, I probably owe you for how many times I spied on you getting undressed,” Tyson decides. Gabe’s lips curl up.

“Yeah, you’re a really bad spy.”

“And you’re such an exhibitionist, why didn’t you say if you saw me!”

“I like how you look at me,” Gabe replies simply, and there goes Tyson’s blush again. Fuck, why is he so like this?

“You like to be looked at, you mean.”

“That too,” Gabe agrees, still grinning, and stretches so that Tyson really can’t not look at him, all naked and in Tyson’s bed.

Tyson blinks a few times, then comes out of his fugue state. “Wait. No. We’re talking about this. If this goes wrong—”

“It won’t.”

“But if it—”

“No, you don’t get to do this.” Gabe sits up, and he looks like some sort of Viking warrior again, with his set jaw and bare chest, and he looks like Tyson’s friend, with his messy hair and pissy expression. “We’ve basically been dating for months, just without the sex. We’re good together. It won’t go wrong. I’ll prove it to you.”

Tyson bites at his lip. He’s programmed to believe Gabe when he does that sort of hero thing. But—“You know, I’m not—I mean, you’re in love with me, and I didn’t even think that was possible until like two days ago.” Gabe’s watching him, and he’s got that fond, steady look on, and it means Tyson has to keep going. “And like, you’re you, so I’m sure I’ll get there, and I am obviously super into your bod and also I guess we have basically been dating and it’s been fine, but we aren’t on even footing, and—”

“You’ll get there,” Gabe tells him, looking so confident that Tyson has to kick him in the shin.

“Says who?”

“Says how into me you are,” Gabe retorts. “And I am going to woo the fuck out of you, so yeah, you’ll get there.”

“You think you know how to woo me?” Tyson shoots back. Gabe smirks, and rolls over so he’s on top of Tyson again, and he’s looking down at Tyson like he’s going to devour him, which is admittedly a good opening move. “I’ve seen your moves, Landeskog. I’m onto your big-headed wiles. I—”

Gabe leans down and kisses him again, slow and dirty and overwhelming, and maybe Tyson swoons a little, it’s fine. They’re pretty clearly on their way to round two—they still haven’t really talked about everything, and Tyson’s not entirely convinced Gabe’s really thought this through, but also Gabe’s kissing him and that’s pretty distracting—when Tyson’s stomach rumbles.

“Shut up!” Tyson mutters, grabbing a pillow to hit Gabe when he starts cracking up. “It’s late and I haven’t eaten!”

“You’re the one who said I was more important than food.”

“Well clearly I was out of my mind with lust, and no one will believe you if you say I said that.”

“I tried to give you a nice meal, but you decided—”

“You started it! Ambushing me by saying you were in love with me. How am I supposed to react to that?”

“This is good.” Gabe drops a kiss onto his forehead. Tyson makes a face. He has to stop with this sincerity. “And eating means we have to leave bed.”

“I mean. It doesn’t,” Tyson points out. “We could eat here.”

“There’ll be crumbs everywhere.”

“Are you saying you’re a messy eater?” Tyson asks, but he sits up too. He gets it. “Fine, we can—”

“No, it’s good.” Gabe pushes him gently back into the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

“Need help?”

“I need you to still be in this bed when I get back,” Gabe tells him, then scoops up his jeans but doesn’t put them on as he walks to the bedroom door, because he definitely knows that Tyson is ogling his ass.

Tyson lets out a long breath as soon as he’s gone. It’s easier to breathe somehow, without him here. Or harder. It’s still such a risk, doing this; Tyson’s never been with anyone he likes as much as he likes Gabe. He’s never been with someone who gets him so well. Who can get under his skin so deep.

He grabs his phone from his jeans pocket, sends a prince emoji and three eggplants to Nate. Immediately he gets back,

_Seriously!?!?!_ and then a row of eggplants and fireworks and hearts.

_Is this a huge mistake?_ he asks. He can’t figure it out anymore, where his head stops and his heart begins.

The three dots last for a long time. _It could be?_ Nate replies at last. _But it doesn’t have to be. You and Landy are solid._

_Super helpful._ Tyson thinks for a second, then, because it’s Nate, _I don’t want to lose anyone._

_Im always here_ , Nate sends back immediately, and Tyson takes a deep breath. _You won’t lose anyone, no matter what happens_

_I might lose Gabe_

_Or you could finally get Gabe_ God, Nate is being annoyingly rational. Tyson is typing back to tell him that when Gabe comes back in. He’s got a tray with two bowls on it and two water bottles, and he’s shirtless and his jeans are riding low on his hips and he pauses in the doorway just to look at Tyson.

“I think I’m dreaming, this is probably me dreaming, right?” Tyson says, scooting up the bed and putting his phone away. “Hot man delivering me food in bed.”

Gabe grins, something to the left of his usual smirk or his grin, something almost shy. “Put pants on, I draw the line on naked dinner in bed.”

“Really? Naked is where you draw the line? I thought you wanted to get me out of my clothes in this bed,” Tyson retorts, but he leans over the side of the bed to fish for his boxers. “You’re giving me mixed signals here.”

“I’ll get you out of them again later,” Gabe informs him. When Tyson gets back on the bed, Gabe was definitely staring. Tyson’s not the exhibitionist Gabe is, but it still starts something pleased in his belly. Then Gabe puts the tray down on the center of the bed, to reveal two bowls of something soupy. “We’re having vegetables, because I refuse to let you die of malnutrition because you still eat like you’re twenty.”

“A sweet tooth is not eating like I’m twenty. I get plenty of vegetables.”

“Eat,” Gabe informs him, and Tyson rolls his eyes but takes a bite. It’s really good, because of course it is.

“Fuck, Gabe. How are you all that and a good cook? How did I not know you were a good cook?” Tyson talks around his next spoonful. “How have you not been cooking for me before?”

“This is all I can really make.” Gabe shrugs, but he’s grinning, clearly pleased. “So, Mr. Reviewer. How does it rate?”

Tyson takes another bite, hums. “Four stars.”

“Four!” Gabe protests. “Come on, it’s dinner in bed!”

“You’ve got to leave room for improvement,” Tyson retorts, and Gabe is actually pouting now. “Can’t have your head getting too big.”

“This is what I get for cooking for a reviewer,” Gabe says mournfully, eating his own soup. “I slave over the hot stove all day, and I get four stars.”

“You threw ingredients in a pot, let’s not go crazy here.”

“Slaved,” Gabe repeats. “Ask Josty. He came by earlier. I think he’s worried.”

“Yeah.” Tyson pauses. “I sort of told him we weren’t really dating?”

“What!” Gabe sits up straight. “Tyson, we could get kicked out—”

“I was mad! And sick of lying!” Tyson doesn’t look at Gabe as he talks. “And he didn’t believe me anyway.”

“Good. Because that’s not true anymore anyway,” Gabe points out, then gives Tyson a look that’s half-shy, half-demanding, and mostly challenge. “Right?”

Tyson traces a pattern in the bedspread. It’s Gabe. It’s just Gabe, and it’s all Gabe, who Tyson loves in some way, who’s fixed Tyson’s problems and made Tyson dinner in bed and matches him banter for banter and who looks at Tyson like something out of a romance novel. Who Tyson can picture making Tyson dinner in bed for years, and bickering over the TV and dinner, who called Tyson irresistible and who believes Tyson can do whatever he wants and who won’t let them fail. Who called this place they share a home.

“Yeah,” Tyson says, and meets Gabe’s eyes and Gabe’s challenge, as a smile breaks over Gabe’s face that’s brighter than anything he’s seen before. “That’s right.”

///

“I don’t like him.”

“You’ve met him before.”

“I’ve heard him on Skype,” Gabe retorts. His arms are wrapped around Tyson’s waist and his head’s resting on Tyson’s temple, but Tyson doesn’t have to see his face to know how he’s glaring in the general direction of the kitchen. “I haven’t met him before.”

“What’s wrong with Gabe?” Nate asks, handing Tyson a beer. He’s got another beer in his hands, but Gabe’s arms are both clearly occupied. Nate shrugs, and sets the beer down on the coffee table.

“He’s threatened by another tall attractive European in the apartment,” Tyson explains.

“I am not,” Gabe mutters, and shoots another glare in Roman’s direction, where he’s chatting with Josty and Comphy about something in the kitchen as he cooks whatever they’re trying today. Tyson had thought that for an early episode of the podcast, it would be good to bring in some of Tyson’s guest features—people still love his blog for his large blondes—but in retrospect, maybe he should have expected Gabe being ridiculous. Gabe actually having permission to be handsy has made everything before they got together, that in retrospect was pretty obvious, seem subtle by comparison. “I just don’t like him.”

Tyson rolls his eyes at Nate, then pats Gabe on the forearm, which is about all he can reach. “Don’t worry, Gabe. You’re the only hot European man for me.”

“Good.”

“I mean, where else would I find someone who will clean the bathroom?” Tyson goes on. “Unless—maybe I should ask Roman…” Gabe makes a growling sound, and Tyson stops, not bothering not to laugh. “Don’t worry, you clean the bathroom the best.”

“That’s right,” Gabe agrees, but when Tyson wiggles he lets him go. “I’m hotter, anyway,” he decides.

“Okay, sure. Whatever you say.” Tyson pats his shoulder, and ignores Gabe’s squawk.

“Okay, the crudités are ready,” Roman announces, coming into the living room with a plate, Josty trailing after him and Comphy trailing after him. “How do we want to do this? Do you want a picture now?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Tyson agrees. “All of you guys sit on the couch and grab one. I want to get a picture of you all enjoying them. Then we can talk about it.”

“Yes sir.” Josty salutes and Comphy laughs, and Tyson glares, which doesn’t seem to intimidate anyone.

“Sit, boys,” Gabe orders, though, and so they come onto the couch to sit. Gabe gives Roman a deeply suspicious look and sits on the other end of the couch from him, and Nate sighs at Tyson to sit between them. Tyson makes a note to buy him a drink later.

They take the picture, then Tyson comes over to perch on the couch next to Gabe, because those crudités look really great and Tyson does not want to sacrifice them to various large mens’ appetites. 

“I love your apartment,” Roman observes, as they all eat. Tyson tries to remember notes to talk about later—he doesn’t really review Roman’s cooking, their format which has been working so far is more Roman makes food and then Tyson talks about where you can get the same sort of thing cheaply—but also them making fun of each other is apparently a lot of why people watch them. “It’s really great.”

Gabe’s hand wraps around Tyson’s ankle. “We like it,” he agrees.

“Eh, it’s pretty okay,” Tyson retorts, to be difficult.

“You said when you were moving in that you wanted to marry the counters,” Comphy pipes up, which is just unfair ganging up on Tyson.

“I say a lot of things. I’ve said I wanted to marry all of you before, probably. That doesn’t count.”

“All of us?” Gabe asks, and he’s giving Tyson that fucking look and Tyson knows he’s flushing.

“Whatever. Sometimes you guys made pretty goals.”

“Pretty goals are all you need for a proposal?” Roman asks. He’s watching them all with a slightly superior, amused look. Tyson can admit that if things with Gabe weren’t going so well, he would probably be into it. As it is, though, things with Gabe are going well, and he has his own slightly superior, gorgeous guy who’s in love with him, so all his flirting is for play. “That’s pretty easy.”

“What can I say, I’m an easy guy,” Tyson replies. “For marriage, at least. Lots of tax benefits there. They stack, right?” 

“No,” Gabe says sternly, and tugs until Tyson slides into the spot between him and the arm of the couch, which basically doesn’t exist so he’s back on Gabe’s lap.

“What, you don’t want more tax benefits?” Tyson asks, grinning up at him.

“You don’t even know what tax benefits are,” Gabe points out.

“I know they’re good and a good reason to get married.”

“Like getting an apartment might be a good reason to get together?” Nate inserts, and Tyson turns a betrayed look to him as Gabe scoffs.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tyson informs him.

“What are you talking about?” Roman asks, and Gabe pinches Tyson’s thigh before he says something stupid.

“They’re never talking about anything,” Josty puts in, with a long-suffering sigh. “This is how they flirt. It happens a lot.”

“They’re such an old married couple,” Comphy agrees, which is bullshit because he knows they’ve only been together a month. Josty hypothetically knows too, but they have yet to convince him that this time they really are telling the truth, and Tyson’s honestly about ready to give up.

“Well, not married, because Gabe doesn’t want tax benefits,” Tyson points out. He’s basically sitting on Gabe, so he can feel Gabe do some sort of tensing thing.

“Is that why?” Gabe asks, his voice low.

“Nope.” Nate interrupts, because he is a godsend and saves Tyson from having to say in public that he is a sensible person who is in fact not ready to get married after dating a month, even if Gabe is ridiculous and romantic and maybe it’s really nice to know that Gabe would. That Gabe thinks that’s realistic. “Sorry, I’m vetoing. No daring each other into marriage.”

“You’re no fun,” Gabe informs him, but he settles back.

“Should we record, then?” Tyson asks, maybe too fast, but he is so not talking about this.

Josty and Comphy clear out to go upstairs and play video games, because they can’t be trusted to stay quiet, and Nate stays because Gabe can’t be trusted to stay quiet and Nate needs to keep control of him, even if he’s hypothetically working in the kitchen while they record. 

It’s fun, recording. Tyson thought he’d be a mess, and he definitely is, but apparently it’s a mess that people like and Roman’s sharpness counters it nicely. They’ve gotten a good reaction to the first few episodes, probably at least in part because Biz has thrown his promotional weight behind them. But it hasn’t crashed and burned yet, which is sort of more than Tyson expected.

Once they finish and Roman leaves after Gabe postures a little more, which Roman is pretty clearly obviously amused by, and Nate leaves too, because he has class or something tomorrow, then it’s just Gabe and Tyson in their apartment.

“Hey,” Tyson says, watching as Gabe puts the plates from the crudités in the sink. It’s a nice view, Gabe’s shirt under the t-shirt he’d put on because not even he’s shameless enough to be shirtless when guests are over. “You really are the only hot European man for me, you know that, right? All that flirting is just me bullshitting.”

“I know how much you bullshit, yes, Tyson.” But Gabe’s barely pouting as he turns around, apparently leaving the plates for later. “Even if you’re nicer to Roman than to me.”

“Well, I’m only mean to people I really like,” Tyson explains, like Gabe doesn’t know.

“You must really like me then,” Gabe points out, advancing on Tyson in the way Tyson has discovered he had, when he like, stalks with intent. Tyson is very happy to be stalked.

“I’m not the one who just basically proposed marriage,” Tyson points out, and leans against the wall so Gabe can pin him there with an arm on either side of his head.

“Well, Nate said no to that.” Gabe pauses, then the predatory look fades for a second. “You know that I’m not pushing for that, right? I love you, but I do know that would be too fast. And that you aren’t there yet. That’s fine.”

“I know,” Tyson agrees. “Now want to prove to me that you’re the best hot European in this apartment?”

Gabe swears, then he’s grabbing Tyson’s ass and yanking him forward, and Tyson knew the wall thing was a good idea.

Somehow they do make it to a bed in the end, and Gabe curls into Tyson like Tyson’s discovered he likes, a leg over Tyson’s knees and an arm over his chest. It’s comfortable, with Gabe wrapped around Tyson like another blanket. Maybe it’ll get too much once summer really kicks in, but for right now, it’s okay.

Gabe mumbles sometimes into Tyson’s shoulder.

“Hm?”

Gabe lifts his head. “I said, did we put away the ham?”

“I don’t know, I was a little distracted.”

“We should do that. It’s almost summer, bugs are going to come out.”

“Then you do it.”

“I cleared the plates.”

“I have to wake up earlier than you for work.”

“Fine,” Gabe groans, and unwraps himself. Tyson grins.

“Thanks, babe!”

“Screw you!” Gabe calls back, as he goes to wrap up the ham. Tyson grins up at the ceiling, then lets his eyes close. He really should sleep tomorrow—he’s got a full day of school, and apparently the principal wants to talk to him about what the school should do about the Simons, because it seems he wasn’t the only teacher with concerns. So he needs to sleep. But despite everything, he can’t, not with the warm spot next to him where Gabe was clearly empty.

His eyes are still closed when Gabe comes back in, but he doesn’t open them, not when Gabe gets back into bed, not when he rearranges them so he’s back to being wrapped around Tyson.  
“I know you aren’t asleep yet,” Gabe murmurs. “You could have done that.”

“I’m definitely asleep,” Tyson argues, his eyes still closed. He can feel Gabe moving, then lips are brushing over his, soft and sappy.

“Okay,” Gabe murmurs, into the warm darkness of their apartment. “Night, Tyson. Love you.”

“Yeah,” Tyson says back, and as he’s falling asleep he thinks, even if he’s not sure he’s ready to say it yet, _you too_.

**Author's Note:**

> Liked it? Want to talk about it? Comment or come chat on [ tumblr!](http://fanforthefics.tumblr.com/)


End file.
